


Bits and Pieces

by orphan_account



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff fest, a collection of my ficlets, angst fest, but for now it's one big dump of them!, by semi-popular demand, i'll post in batches--like once a month or so, they'll both be here for the finding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-06-08 23:37:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 180
Words: 147,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6880132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By semi-popular demand, a collection of my tumblr ficlets. </p><p>Will be updated monthly with batches of ficlets from my tumblr, for those folks who don't frequent the strange blue planet that is Maveth--I mean, tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Neighbors + Cookies

**Author's Note:**

> Hi folks! 
> 
> Quite a few folks have asked me to compile my tumblr ficlets onto AO3 for easier reading and/or access for people who aren't on tumblr or don't visit tumblr often. 
> 
> I'll update this at the end of each month, with a batch of ficlets that were written that month!

Fitz is just finishing up with the last box of his kitchen supplies when an insistent knocking begins at his door. Groaning as his back cracks, he rights himself and grumbles. Swinging open the door to his new apartment, he’s met with a sparkling smile and wide brown eyes. 

She might be the prettiest woman he’s ever seen, and she’s shoving a little wicker basket of cookies into his hands. 

“Welcome to the building!” she chirps in a British lilt. “I’m your neighbor, Jemma Simmons.” 

He gapes at her for a long moment before realizing that this is where he’s supposed to introduce himself. “Fitz. Just..just Fitz.” 

Her smile grows wider as she hears his accent. “How lovely! Let me guess…Edinburgh?” 

He shakes his head and lets his eyes drift to the cookies. He’s afraid if he looks at her much longer, he’ll be blinded. It’s like looking at the sun. “Glasgow, actually.” 

She hums in understanding. “Well, it was very nice to meet you, Fitz. If you ever need anything at all, I live just across the hall.” 

“Thanks, Jemma. Nice to meet you as well.” 

He’s proud of himself for getting the words out, and she gives him a perky little expectant nod. She’s looking between his face and the cookies in his hands, and he realizes she must want him to take a bite. 

He does, and promptly has to resist the urge to spit it back out. They’re strangely bitter, and rock hard. For a panicked moment, he wonders if he’s cracked a tooth on these horrendous cookies. 

“How are the biscuits?” she asks nervously, bouncing on her toes. “They’re gluten free, since I wasn’t sure if you might have an allergy…” 

“They’re…delicious,” he lies. “Wonderful.” 

Her smile is worth it. She looks so proud of herself, and he can’t bring himself to tear that down. 

“Oh, thank God!” she sighs, pleased. “It’s my first try at baking. I was going to make a test batch for myself, but I got caught up in work and…well, you don’t need to hear all of this. I’m glad you like them.” 

She bids him farewell and dashes across the hall to her own apartment. As soon as she’s gone, he spits the cookie into the bin and tosses the entire basket on the top of his trash heap. He doesn’t think twice when he takes out the garbage, tossing it on the top of the overly full dumpster. 

*** 

The next day, he runs into Jemma at the mailboxes. 

“Hey,” he greets with a smile. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

He expects another one of her bright smiles (or at least he certainly hopes for one), but instead he receives a haughty glare as she slams the door to her mailbox shut. 

“I do live here,” she hisses. She turns sharply on her heel and moves quickly away from him. He’s left, dumbfounded, in the mail area. What on earth could he have done to get off on such a bad footing with his new neighbor? 

He pulls out his phone and sends a text to Mack. 

[Fitz]: My new neighbor brought me cookies yesterday and now she seems to hate me. 

[Mack]: Were the cookies good?

[Fitz]: Terrible. What does it matter? I said they were good! 

[Mack]: Maybe she knows you lied? Idk man. This is a social situation you gotta figure out on your own.

Fitz huffs. If Mack won’t be of any assistance, he’ll just have to ask himself. He knocks on her door, hears her come to the peep hole, and waits for nearly an entire minute. She doesn’t open the door. 

Thoughts reeling, he goes back to his own apartment and analyzes their exchange the day before. He had stared at her like an idiot when she’d first knocked on the door–perhaps she didn’t like being ogled by a stranger. 

But she’d stayed, and chatted with him, and had seemed like she didn’t really want to stop. If she was so offended by his staring, why hadn’t she said so at the time? 

He sighs, accepting any kind of relationship with his new neighbor as a loss. Shame, too, since she’s so pretty and English. 

This goes on for several more days. Each and every time he ran into Jemma, she was standoffish, bordering on blatantly rude. The fourth time he bumps into her, she’s with a friend, and Jemma narrows her eyes at him before walking into her place. 

The friend, however, doesn’t immediately follow. 

“You must be Fitz,” she laughs. “Jemma can be a little dramatic. I’m Bobbi, I just moved out of this place.” 

“Nice to meet you.” 

Bobbi turns to follow Jemma inside, but then turns back to him. “Next time, you might wanna hide the evidence when you throw out someone’s cookies.” 

Ah. So that’s what went wrong. She’d obviously seen the cookies in the dumpster and either figured out that he lied to her or thought that he was the kind of jerk who threw away perfectly good cookies from a very beautiful woman. 

He ponders what to do about it for several hours, even calling an exasperated Mack to bounce ideas off of. His friend finally barks at him to figure his shit out on his own and hangs up. 

Fitz sets out to fix it. He rummages through his cabinets and finds what he thinks will be the proper ingredients for cookies, but he’s never been much of a baker. Deep down, he doubts that these will be any better than Jemma’s horrendous creation, but he figures he should at least try. 

And that’s how he finds himself knocking on her door, with a paper plate piled with semi-burnt cookies. She swings open the door, Bobbi standing very close behind her. Jemma’s blonde friend is grinning like the cat that ate the canary, and he avoids looking at her. 

“I uh, I made you these,” he stammers. “It’s…look, Jemma, your cookies were really gross. But you were really excited about them and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings so I said that they were good, and…and yeah, so here, I made you some really shitty cookies that you can toss in the dumpster. Are we even?” 

She slowly takes the plate from his hands. “You lied?” 

He winces. “I mean, technically, yes, that was…that was definitely a lie.” 

He certainly doesn’t expect her to start grinning like a loon. 

“Aw, Fitz. That’s actually very kind of you. I’m sorry they were so awful, I really thought I had the proportions right but now that I’m thinking about it, putting that little butter in there probably wasn’t the wisest choice. And I’m sure yours aren’t nearly as bad.” 

They really are, and he knows it, because he’d sampled them before coming over. Before he can stop her, she’s taken a large bite from one and he watches her face contort. 

Bobbi begins laughing loudly, and the blonde gives him a wink before she leaves the two of them alone in the hallway. 

Jemma tries her best to swallow it, he can tell, but ultimately she ends up spitting it gracelessly back onto the plate. 

“Oh god, those are awful.” 

Then they both start laughing, uncontrollably, and Jemma crinkles her nose so adorably when she meets his eyes that he’s pretty sure his heart has completely melted. 

“I’m a much better cook than I am a baker,” Fitz admits, scratching the back of his neck. 

Jemma’s eyes light up and she leans in a bit closer. “Maybe you can cook me dinner some time instead.” 

He gapes at her again, just like he did the first time he saw her. Then he quickly shakes himself. 

“Yeah!” he practically shouts. “I mean, sure. That would be…that’d be fine. Fine by me.” 

Jemma giggles. “Then it’s a date, Just Fitz.” 

 

Bobbi has entirely too much fun imitating both of them at their wedding. 


	2. Wearing Each Other's Sweaters

Jemma freezes in the doorway to the lab, watching Fitz chat with Hunter. He’s leaning back in his chair near a computer, most definitely wearing her sweater. 

“That’s mine,” she blurts out. He blinks, shaking his head.

“Definitely not,” he says, glancing down at the dark blue sweater. “But that, that is mine.” 

She scoffs, tugging at the hem of the grey jumper she’s wearing. “No! This is mine!” 

Hunter stares between them like a tennis match, grinning. “Aw, how cute. You two share clothes?” 

“That’s why the sweater is tight on you!” Jemma insists, gesturing at his chest. “Because it’s for ladies.” 

“I just happened to–to grow a little bit,” Fitz blushes. 

Jemma crosses her arms. “You have not. You’ve not grown since you were nineteen.” 

Hunter snorts and then regains his composure. “Aw, c’mon, Simmons. Fitz has certainly filled out recently, wouldn’t you say?” 

Now it’s Jemma’s turn to blush pink. She falters in her argument, stammering out a reply. “Well–I suppose, I mean, I guess that I’ve noticed that…um, well, you have become more…um…” 

Hunter barks out a laugh and hops off of the stool he’d perched on. He ruffles Jemma’s hair as he passes, grinning. “I’ll leave you to it, then. May the best nerd win.” 

They sit in silence for a long moment, just staring at one another, before Fitz finally speaks. 

“That jumper really does belong to me,” he says. “My mum made it for my birthday back at SciOps.” 

Jemma frowns. “Your mum made you a green one that year.” 

His head tilts to the side in thought. “Only one way to find out, I suppose.” 

He stands, moving to stand just in front of her. His fingers pick up the hem of the sweater and he flips it around, ignoring the way his heart pounds at her proximity. 

“See? There’s my mum’s initials, right there. BF.” 

“She made this one for me!” Jemma insists. “Remember? For Christmas?” 

“She’d never make such a plain sweater for Christmas, Jemma. You of all people should know that, walking around with that ridiculous snowman plastered across your chest–” 

“Hey, I love that jumper! It makes me feel nice!” she exclaims. He laughs, low and warm, and Jemma looks around cautiously before she moves to put her arms around his neck. 

“If you really want this jumper back,” he whispers, hands moving toward her waist, “you could always just take it.” 

She bites her lip, watching Fitz’s eyes dart toward her mouth. In one smooth motion, she runs her hands down to his, grabbing them and tugging him with her as she moves backward into the storage closet.

When Hunter sees them an hour later, they’re both bright red. He’s not sure that they’ve ever noticed that they’ve swapped jumpers.

“Think they’re slick,” he grumbles under his breath. “Everyone _knows_ they’re together, for goddsake.” 


	3. Tickle Fight

“I’m just not,” Fitz asserts. Jemma narrows her eyes dubiously, his button-down shirt dangling precariously off of one shoulder. Fitz can think of about a thousand things he’d rather be doing right now than having this debate, but he can already tell that his girlfriend has no intention of dropping it. 

“That’s not possible,” Jemma says, shaking her head. The wild way her hair settles is entirely too distracting, and he doesn’t notice her hand until it’s creeping up his calf. Her fingers dance in an attempt to draw a twitch or laugh or _anything_ from him. 

“You do recall that you’ve known me for over a decade, right?” he scoffs. “If I was ticklish, I think you’d have known it already.” 

“I also never had unfettered access to your body,” she points out. His cheeks flush at the insinuation, despite the fact that she’s currently wearing nothing but his favorite blue shirt and a pair of knickers. Her hands rest under his knees, attempting to get a reaction out of him.

Nothing. 

Next they move to his stomach, where she’s sure she’ll get a reaction. A light shiver leads her to believe that she might be onto something, but then she realizes that it had more to do with the location of her hands near the waistband of his shorts. 

She’s nearly covered every inch of him when she realizes she missed a vital area. Grinning, she moves back down toward his feet, and she sees a spark of nervousness in his eyes. 

“Jemma…” 

“Found it,” she proclaims proudly. As soon as her fingers touch the soles of his feet, he lets out an embarrassingly high pitched squeal as he tries to scramble up the mattress, further away from her. HIs legs kick out wildly and he can’t hold back the laugh that erupts from his throat. 

After nearly thirty seconds of this torture, he manages to lock his legs around her waist, tugging her forward over him so that he can grab her arms. He twists, fitting her snugly beneath him, and peppers kisses all over her face. 

“You’re mean,” he grumbles.

“And you’re a liar,” she retorts haughtily, eyes shutting as she lets out a little sigh of happiness. “But I do suppose I’m stuck with you, aren’t I?” 

He grins wickedly into her neck, running his hands down her sides to the spot he knows will drive her mad. She shrieks, eyes popping open. 

“Fitz, no!” 

“What?” he laughs. “Scared to finish what you started?” 

His hands dance on the little spot just between her ribs and her hips and she laughs wildly, bucking upward in her attempts to escape his grasp. 

“Okay, okay! I’ll never touch your feet again! I promise!” 

“Not good enough!” he laughs. She pants with the exertion, eyes bright and cheeks pink. 

She goes for the hail mary, grabbing him around the neck and pressing her lips to his. This instantly stills his hands and she grins into his mouth, flipping them back over. 

He doesn’t need to know that her fingers were crossed; now that she knows that he’s ticklish, he’s done for. 


	4. Preggo in Perthshire

“Do you think we’re ready for this?” he asks quietly, arms circling around her from behind. Jemma relaxes back against his chest, head lolling back against his shoulder. 

“No,” she says honestly. The sun is rising over the garden, the perfect view from the nursery. She watches it with a small smile. “But to be fair, I’m not sure anyone in history has ever been ready for this.” 

His thumbs draw comforting little circles on her swollen belly. “Did he keep you up again?” 

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Jemma snorts. “Hunter will be quite pleased that I’m apparently giving birth to a world-class footballer.” 

Fitz nuzzles her hair with a deep chuckle. “You should have woken me.” 

“No sense in neither of us sleeping,” she points out. “Besides, you’ll be on night watch once he’s born.” 

“Only fair,” he shrugs. “You’ve hauled him around for eight months.” 

“Just one more to go,” she says nervously. “We’ll be good parents, though.” 

“We will,” Fitz confirms. “We did pretty good with my cousin’s little one.” 

“Fitz, he destroyed our entire home,” she laughs. “You and I remember that night very differently.” 

“Ours won’t be a hellion,” he shoots back. “Ours will be nice and quiet and smart.” 

“Hopefully not too smart,” Jemma frets. A sudden realization dawns on her. “Fitz! What if he’s smarter than us? What if we can’t keep up?” 

“My mum managed just fine,” he grins. “We will too. Besides, how’s he going to be smarter than us? He’d have to have his first PhD before 14.” 

A sudden kick lurches her belly and she laughs giddily. “He seems to disagree with you there.” 

“What do you think he’ll look like?” Fitz murmurs, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. She sighs, watching the rising sun reflect off of the dew on the grass. 

“I think he’ll have your curls.” 

She ignores Fitz’s grumble of _lord help him._

“I hope he has your eyes,” she continues. “But he’ll most likely have mine, as brown is the dominant gene, of course.” 

“Of course,” he grins. “Well, I hope he has yours. And your smile. But not your penchant for the disgusting and dead.” 

“I hope he leaves cat livers next to your lunch,” Jemma fires back, grin nearly splitting her face. He spins her around gently, wrapping his arms around her back despite her large belly between them.

He presses a kiss to her lips. “I’ll love him anyway, I promise.” 

“I know you will,” she sighs contentedly. “You managed to love me anyway.” 

“Every day.” 


	5. Baking Fight

Fitz approaches her slowly, cup of flour in his hands. Jemma has been entirely too stressed about this holiday meal, and if you ask him, seven pies is an excessive number for the group of people attending their first Perthshire Christmas. 

Jemma is so focused in her measuring that she doesn’t notice him approaching, smirk on his face as he plans to bring a little bit of fun back to their morning. Sweet, unsuspecting Jemma lines up her ingredients immaculately just as the cup of flour rains onto her head. 

She squeals, spinning around and shoving him. “FITZ!” 

“Seemed like you needed a bit of stress relief?” he says, suddenly regretting his impulsive decision. He can see the gears in her head turning as the anger in her eyes dissolves into mischief. Perhaps he doesn’t need to regret it after all. 

Jemma reaches behind her slowly and he can’t see what she plucks off the counter. He backs away cautiously, hands held up in surrender.

“Jemma, I don’t know what you’re doing, but–” 

She moves quickly, cracking the egg onto his head with a satisfied smirk. The yolk runs directly down the center of his face and he screws his eyes shut at the sensation, keeping his lips firmly clamped so that he doesn’t swallow any of it by accident. 

When the egg squelches onto the floor, Fitz opens his eyes slowly. “Oh, you’re in for it now, Dr. Fitz-Simmons.” 

“Dr. Simmons, still,” she reminds him. “Still waiting for you to make a truly honest woman out of me.” 

He dashes for the sink, squirting her with the attachment on the faucet. She shrieks and wipes away the water from her powdery face. A handful of mashed up pumpkin gets shoved against his cheeks and he retaliates with a hearty throw of a brown sugar snowball. They chase each other around the kitchen, ingredients flying wildly. Powdered sugar decorates the cabinets, pumpkin, pecans, and cinnamon apples littering the floor. 

Jemma slips on the first egg cracked onto her fiancee’s head and his arms reach out on instinct to protect her from the fall. He goes down with her, head smacking against the wooden floor. Jemma sits up immediately. 

“Oh, Fitz!” she gasps. “I’m so sorry!” 

“I’m fine,” he assures her with a little wince. “I started it, after all.” 

“Still, let me check your head.” 

He shakes his head, reaching up to kiss her instead. A loud cough in the doorway to the kitchen startles them, and they find Daisy standing with her arms crossed. She’s dressed in a flannel and jeans, looking like she had years ago when they’d first met. 

“Merry Christmas, FitzSimmons,” Daisy giggles. “Are we licking our meal off of your walls?” 

Jemma blushes, standing quickly and rushing to hug her friend. “Daisy! So good to see you.” 

Daisy backs up quickly, hands raised in defense. “Jemma, I love you, but you’re disgusting.” 

Jemma looks down at her messy clothes and exchanges a look with Fitz. She grimaces. 

“You might want to call the team, let them know to come a little later?” 

Fitz grins. “On it.” 

Daisy halts their movements with a quick shout. “Get together, you two! Let me commemorate your first holiday as real, functional adults.” 

“Is that what you call this?” Jemma teases. “If you ask me it looks like a couple of children got left home alone.” 

Daisy shrugs, clicking her camera app and snapping a few photos. “How many PhDs does it take to make a pie?” 

Fitz groans and moves past her to go change. Jemma rolls her eyes, anticipating Daisy’s punchline.

“Apparently more than three.”


	6. Pillow Fights

The pillow smacks him in the side of the face just as he rips open the cardboard box. He splutters and turns to stare at Jemma, her long hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. Moving day has been exceedingly exhausting, and he deeply regrets saying no to the apartment that had an elevator in favor of this one, which has significantly higher ceilings. 

“Hey!” 

Jemma just grins smugly, reaching into the box behind her and pulling out another one, fluffing it dramatically. “Looks like I’ve found my bedding.” 

Fitz rolls his eyes. “Very nice. Now please keep your bedding to yourself, Simmons.” 

She laughs loudly and smacks him again, this time not letting the pillow leave her hands.

“OI! Pillow fights are beneath us!” 

“Too bad,” Jemma smirks. “Because we’re having one anyway. I’m bored of this.” 

“It’s not a fair fight, I haven’t got a weapon,” he points out. She reaches one arm behind her and pulls out another pillow, tossing it to him. 

“Now you’re armed.” 

She bops him on the head with her pillow and he can’t resist retaliating, smacking her lightly in the stomach with it. She huffs. 

“Is that the best you’ve got? C’mon, Fitz.” 

With a hard whack to his face, she manages to get his competitive spirit moving. He narrows his eyes and grabs another pillow off of their couch. 

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” he threatens, raising his eyebrows. He darts toward her and she runs, shrieking, into her new bedroom. There’s several boxes lying in the empty space and she ducks behind one. 

He laughs, staring over it at the top of her head. “You give up easy.” 

“Do not!” she retorts, popping up and smacking him. “That was my bunker.” 

She chases him back out of the room, snatching another pillow in the process. His curls ruffle into disarray from her persistent assault and he falls back onto the couch, laughing wildly as she crawls on top of him. 

“Surrender!” she giggles. He shakes his head and wrenches the pillow from her grip, quickly overturning her so that he has the advantage. 

“Never!” he proclaims. Pinning her down with one arm, he wriggles his fingers. “Say it, Simmons. Say you surrender.” 

She glares at him mockingly, a smile still dancing on her lips. “No.” 

He sighs dramatically. “You’ve given me no choice.” 

He brushes his fingers along her ribs, making her shriek with laughter as she wriggles beneath him. “Fitz! No!”

“You never said tickling was out of bounds,” he grins, continuing his attack. Her laughter and screams echo in the empty apartment. 

“Fine, fine, I surrender!” she shrieks. “You win!” 

He hops off of her with a satisfied smirk. “Can’t believe you haven’t learned this yet, Simmons. I always win.” 

She shakes her head, bun dangling sloppily on the side of her head. “One of these days, I’m going to get you.” 

“We’ll see about that.” 

“Shall I call for Chinese?” she asks, looking around at the massive amount of unpacking they have left. 

“You really get me,” he smirks. “Girl after my own heart, really.” 

She rolls her eyes and grabs her phone off of the counter, still a little breathless. Their letters for their SciOps assignment sit beside it and her stomach swoops with happiness. 

This is her life; she and Fitz, roommates and partners and the best of friends. She wouldn’t have it any other way.


	7. Waking Up Together + Embarrassment

Fitz comes to slowly and a bit confused. The last thing he remembers is being in the lab, fiddling with an unknown alien weapon. Jemma had been fussing (almost annoyingly so), nagging that his poking and prodding was dangerous. 

He’s lying on something warm and soft, and his head hurts like hell, so he burrows his face deeper into it and sighs. Maybe he can fall back asleep–he’ll give it a few minutes before he drags his sluggish body to the cabinet to get some paracetamol. 

That’s when he hears it; the dull and steady thud of a heart beat, just underneath his ear. He startles and his face immediately flushes when he realizes just _who_ he had been burrowing his face into. He chokes on a spluttering cough as he also recognizes that the soft warmth had been her–well, her boobs. 

His movement makes her stir, but her eyes don’t flutter open. Fitz looks around and sees that they’re in his bunk, curled up in his bed. He doesn’t remember getting here, and he assumes that Mack had probably hauled him here. This only causes his embarrassment to grow. For whatever reason, Jemma had apparently crawled into bed beside him. 

He tries to extricate himself from her grip, but she tugs him closer. 

“Mm, Fitz,” she sighs sleepily. “Back to sleep. You need rest.” 

His eyes widen and he glances up at her nervously. “Jemma?” 

“Shh, not awake yet,” she grumbles. “Y’scared me.” 

“I’m alright.” 

“Good,” she sighs. She slides further underneath his duvet and pulls her down with him. She smushes his face into her chest and he figures that if this is what she wants, he might as well sink into it. “So comfy.” 

He grins into her skin and then moans lightly as her fingers card through his hair, hands lazy and heavy. The sensation feels heavenly against his aching skull and she seems to wake up a little bit more.

“How’s your head?” she asks, voice hardly a whisper.

“Hurts,” he grunts, mind rendered practically useless under her ministrations. “Feels nice.” 

“I’m glad,” she murmurs. Her lips place a cool kiss on his forehead and he shivers. “You need to be more careful.” 

“Had to get the job done,” he mumbles. He feels her shake his head. 

“Well, I need you to get the job done more carefully, okay? For me. Please.” 

“For you,” he agrees. 

Her arms tighten around him in a little squeeze and even though he should feel somewhat emasculated, he supposes, being held like this, he melts into it. The aching in his head slowly begins to fade as he drifts back into sleep. 


	8. Milk Moustaches

“Shh,” Jemma says through her giggle. “If you wake Hunter he’ll just eat them all.” 

Fitz chuckles, careful to keep his voice low, and brushes an oven mitt-clad hand over Jemma’s messy hair. “You don’t have to worry about that. He’d eat all of my biscuits and be too full to try your inferior ones.” 

Jemma’s jaw drops in indignation and she pushes him away lightly. “I think not! I believe it was you who, in 2007, said that I make ‘the best snicker doodle biscuits in this or any other universe’, thank you very much.” 

Fitz snorts. “That was in 2007, Simmons. That was before i recognized my own baking abilities.” 

Jemma tilts her head to the side and narrows her eyes. “Oh really? Well, we’ll just see about that.” 

“The Great British Bake Off continues,” Fitz grins just as the timer beeps. Jemma rushes to quiet it and he pulls out the tray of cookies. On one half, Jemma’s (gluten free) snicker doodles; on the other, Fitz’s double chocolate chunk. Fitz immediately reaches for one and Jemma smacks his hand away. 

“You’ve got to let them sit for a moment or it’ll just fall apart!” 

“Jemma, Jemma, Jemma,” he sighs, removing the paisley pink oven mitts and reaching for two glasses from the cabinet. “Dr. Fitz’s Chocolate Chunk Cookies must be eaten fresh out of the oven with a glass of cold milk.” 

“I didn’t realize the directions were so explicit on that fact,” she says haughtily. “And have you always called your cookies that? Because I, for one, would love to see a Dr. Fitzy’s Fun Time Cookbook.” 

“Oh, hush.” 

“No, really,” she giggles. “Ooh, maybe a show on the Food Network as well!” 

He blushes faintly pink and shuts her up with a kiss to her lips. She tastes like cinnamon sugar and vanilla tea, an intoxicating combination that has him significantly distracted until she pulls away. She’s wearing his t-shirt over her pajama shorts, milky white legs taunting him. 

She turns to the fridge and pours some milk into each glass before she dishes up some cookies onto a plate. She grabs one of his first, as does he, and they briefly touch the tips of the warm cookies before dunking it into the milk. Jemma immediately groans happily when she takes a bite. 

“Ugh, Fitz,” she sighs. “Baking was supposed to be _my_ thing. This is like ice skating all over again.” 

He grins at her around a mouth full of cookie. “’S not my fault I’m talented at everything.” 

She bumps his hip with hers and takes a sip of milk. He does the same and they much happily in silence for several minutes, until they’re interrupted by Agent May.

“Smells good,” she smirks. She deftly plucks a snickerdoodle and a chocolate chip cookie off of the plate, taking a careful bite of each. “The snickerdoodles are better.” 

Jemma pumps her fist in the air. “I win, biatch!” 

Fitz chokes out a shocked laugh and even May seems to be holding back a wide grin. She turns to leave the kitchen, heading for her morning workout. Over her shoulder, she calls out to them casually.

“By the way, nice milk mustaches.” 

Both scientists burn red, wiping their faces with the backs of their hands before they dissolve into uncontrollable laughter once again.


	9. Re-Decorating At 3 AM

> Fitz walks down the creaky stairs of their Perthshire cottage, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he enters the living room. 

> “Jemma?” he asks blearily. She’s dragging their decidedly heavy couch across the floor, cardboard wedged beneath the feet of it to prevent scratching on the wood. 
> 
> “Fitz!” she says brightly. “Good morning.” 
> 
> “It’s three in the morning,” he corrects her. “What the hell are you doing?” 
> 
> She grimaces apologetically. “Oh, did I wake you? So sorry. I couldn’t sleep, and i came down for a spot of tea, and well–then I realized that we’d gone about this all wrong.” 
> 
> Fitz scrubs a hand over his face. “Went about what all wrong?” 
> 
> “The living room!” Jemma exclaims, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The bookshelf should have gone over _there_ and the television should be over _here.”_
> 
> “Jemma, c’mon,” Fitz whines, ready to drag her back to bed. He knows a trick or two to tire her out. Then he considers what she’s saying and blinks. “Okay, you may have a point.” 
> 
> He finds himself moving into the dimly-lit living room. “But the couch shouldn’t be that way, it should be pressed against that wall there.” 
> 
> Jemma opens her mouth to argue, crossing her arms, but then nods. “Yes. Yes, you’re onto something there.” 
> 
> “Now the real question is,” Fitz says slowly. “What the hell do we do with the ottoman?” 
> 
> “Burn it?” Jemma suggests wryly. She’s not wrong, the thing is absolutely hideous and clashes with most of their furniture. Fitz gulps and shakes his head rapidly. 
> 
> “May bought that for us,” he reminds her. “If it’s not here on her next visit we may get murdered.” 
> 
> Jemma sighs, clucking her tongue. “Nobody would ever find us.” 
> 
> “My poor mum,” Fitz laments teasingly. “Alright then, let’s get on with it.” 
> 
> Jemma grins, eyes lighting up excitedly as she moves to wrap her arms around his neck. She pecks his lips with a short kiss. “You’re not going back to bed?” 
> 
> He shakes his head, amused. “You’ve got me involved, now I’ve got to see this process through.” 
> 
> And he does. They don’t finish rearranging their furniture until nearly an hour later. Jemma’s eyes begin to blink slower and slower, her speech reduced to little sounds and head movements. Fitz stands back with his hands on his hips and admires their handiwork; it really does look much better. 
> 
> He nudges her up the stairs and crawls into bed beside her. She pulls his arm around her middle, his chest to her back as he curls up around her body. The last thing he sees before he falls asleep is the sun rising through the window, Jemma’s wedding ring sparkling on the bedside table. 


	10. First Meeting--Hollywood AU

“Hi,” the girl says, and he’s immediately surprised by her accent. The other girl on the short list for the roll was a big-eyed American girl who had terrified him. “I’m Jemma, Jemma Simmons.” 

“Fitz,” he replies. He’s not sure if he should shake her hand or not. He hadn’t really expected his mum to scrounge up the money to come to America for this casting call anyway. He’s seventeen and completely unaccustomed to the acts required of professionalism. 

“Just Fitz?” she asks. “I suppose you could be doing a Prince sort of thing but that seems rather unlikely. I think you’ve got to already be famous to start just going by a first name, don’t you think?” 

She speaks so rapidly that he almost misses it. “Huh?” 

“Sorry, I’m nervous,” she cringes. “It’s the final go, isn’t it?” 

“Let’s try Jemma and Leo now,” the director calls out. Jemma looks around for whoever this Leo might be, and finds Fitz standing and walking toward the cameras. 

“You’re Leo?” 

“Not quite famous enough for the one-name thing,” he smiles. She smiles back and the director hands them the sides. They perform the scene that they’d already done just an hour before with the other actors. 

The director cuts them off part-way through and Fitz feels his heart drop to the ground. After everything his mum had done to get them here and to make sure someone was looking after Penny back in Scotland, he’d _failed._

“Let’s try this one,” the director says, handing them new sides. He reads it quickly and sees Jemma skimming it as well. Her eyes widen as she hits the bottom of the page, so he looks there. Now he _really_ feels nauseous.

She might just be the prettiest girl he’s ever seen and now he’s got to grope her on camera in front of all of these people. Not to mention the fact that he’s never actually _done_ any of this before. 

He turns and strides out of the room in a panic, huffing in and out. His mum stands in the hallway. 

“What’s wrong, pet?” she asks calmly. “Did you not get it? That’s alright, I told you that it was worth a try–”

He shoves the sides at her and she reads them over, a slow smile spreading on her face.

“Oh, my poor boy. You’ve got to go kiss some strange girl in front of an audience, don’t you?” 

He nods wordlessly and his mother gives his shoulder a squeeze. “I know you don’t want to hear this from your mum but I’m all you’ve got. Put one hand at her waist and one in her hair–the one in her hair should be the one by the camera. Don’t keep your mouth closed but don’t slip her the tongue either.” 

“Mum!” he gasps, utterly scandalized. 

“Take my word for it unless you want to hear where I learned that,” she teases. She shoves him lightly. “Now get back in there before they think you’ve quit, or the poor lass thinks you’re so grossed out by her that you’d rather give up the role.” 

He takes a deep breath and nods, eyes squeezed shut. “Thanks, mum.” 

“Of course, love. Go get ‘em.”

He strides back in as confidently as he can, and Jemma’s face lights up when he take this place opposite her. 

“I almost thought you weren’t coming back,” she whispers. 

He shakes his head. “Just needed to go over the lines.” 

“Alright, here we go. Three, two, one–” 

He inhales a sharp breath and prepares himself. He slurs his accent just so, since the scene requires him to be high on the drug their characters are manufacturing, and Jemma has somehow managed to even make her eyes look glassy, her movement sluggish. She licks her lips, staring at him intently and stepping closer. One of her hands raises up to his cheek, stroking it with awe in her eyes.

He does exactly as his mum said.

He steps forward, one hand in her hair and the other clutching at her waist. He presses his lips against hers a bit forcefully at first, reminding himself immediately afterward that he’s supposed to be high. He does his best to imitate the languid kisses he’s seen on his mother’s telly programs. 

Jemma leans into him, arms slowly raising up around his neck. 

“And scene!” the director calls. He looks extremely pleased. Trip is trying his best not to grin–the seventeen year old is obviously struggling not to tease them. Raina, on the other hand, looks furious.

He gets the call an hour later. He’s been cast, and so has Jemma Simmons. He doesn’t know it yet, but it’s the beginning of _everything._  


	11. Actually Psychically Linked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 2 AU.

“So let me get this straight,” Coulson says slowly, looking between his scientists in the briefing room. “The O84 has made you–” 

“Quite literally psychically linked,” Jemma winces. Fitz stands awkwardly at her side, clenching and unclenching his bad hand. 

This is the worst day of my life, his voice rings out in her head. 

“Really?” she snaps at him. “Because I can name at least five worse days than this. That time that your pants disintegrated off of you in the lab, that time when you were in second grade and those boys put your–” 

“Simmons,” May cuts her off. “That’s enough.” 

Jemma glares at Fitz and he just stares back at her before diverting his eyes. 

“Well, you two are going to have to fix this,” Coulson says with a heavy sigh. 

“Of course–of course we do,” Fitz says through gritted teeth. “But we don’t know if we can.” 

“You’re both off of every other case until this is sorted,” Coulson orders. “So go back to the lab and figure this out.” 

Fitz and Jemma exchange a look and make their way back to the lab. She huffs when he moves as far away from her as possible once they get there. 

“Fitz, you’re going to have to work with me,” Jemma says. “That’s the only way we’re going to get through this.” 

“Yeah well–I’m sure you’re not–you’re not all that pleased by this either,” he snaps. She flinches and squares her shoulders. 

“I’m actually not,” she admits. “Because at least now I have some bloody idea of what you’re thinking!” 

“Me?” he gasps. “You left me and you still won’t tell me why but–but we both know the truth, Jemma.” 

How do you not know I was making you worse? she thinks before she can stop herself. He freezes across from her. 

“Making me–making me worse?” 

Her entire face twists and she squeezes her eyes shut. “Even Mack sees it, Fitz. You’re the only one who doesn’t realize that I’m–I’m the only thing that makes you worse. That’s why I left. And you’re going to find out anyway, now that you can hear my thoughts so–there it is.” 

“I thought it was because–because of–” 

“Because of what you said in the pod?” she finishes with a scoff. “Fitz, you’re my best friend in the world. I meant that. But there was no–there hasn’t been a single moment where I could even think about any of that because I was just trying to make sure you survived.” 

He’s silent for a long moment. 

I missed you, she hears. 

I missed you, too, she thinks back. I still do 

There’s tears in both of their eyes but he gives her a small smile. She returns it and moves closer to him. She latches onto his hand. 

“We’re going to fix this,” Fitz says firmly. She smiles wider, and in her mind their voices ring out in tandem. 

Together.


	12. Dance Lessons

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” Jemma complains. He glares at her and tugs her into the studio. 

“I don’t want to look like a fool at the wedding,” Fitz reminds her. “And need I remind you that we are both horrendous dancers?” 

“I dance just fine!” Jemma protests. 

“You nearly took out my eye at the Boiler Room,” he says immediately. “Face it, Simmons. You have no rhythm.” 

She gives him the kind of look that chills him to the bone. It’s usually the one he gets before he’s stuck sleeping on the common area couch after a particularly heated debate, but they’re usually scientific in nature. 

“You’re certainly no better than I am,” she retorts. He gestures wildly around them. 

“Which is exactly why I had May sign us up for dance lessons!” 

“May signed us up?!” Jemma yelps. “That’s so embarrassing, Fitz.” 

“Jemma, stop. It’ll be fine. We’re just going to learn a waltz and then it’ll be done.” 

The other couples in the room all seem to be staring at their bickering. Fitz seems to be the only man there who actually wants to be there. Conversely, Jemma is the only woman who looks like she’d rather eat her own foot than dance with these people. 

But Jemma hates to make a scene so she pulls herself together and plasters a grin on her face. Fitz chews on his lip as the teacher walks to the front of the room. 

“Hey Jemma,” he whispers. 

“Hm?” 

“I bet by the end of this–we could be the best dancers in the room.” 

The plastic smile melts into a genuine smirk and her eyes dart to him. “You have my attention.” 

“I’m thinking,” he murmurs slowly against her ear. “That we make this a bit of a competition. What do you think?” 

“We could be the best,” Jemma agrees. “I think we make this dance lesson our bitch.” 

He has to hide his laugh behind her head. 

By the time the class is over, Fitz’s feet are killing him but Jemma is smiling and grinning because just like everything else, they’ve managed to be the best pair in the room. 

When they get back in the car, Jemma high fives him.

“That’s how you waltz, biatch!”


	13. Hikers On The Trail

Jemma wrenches herself away from the fern in front of her. She’s been studying its leave for an unreasonable amount of time, and she’s lucky nobody had stumbled upon her, stroking a plant like some sort of…plant pervert. 

She’d set out just as the sun was rising, allowing herself the time and freedom to peruse all of the fascinating flora along the trail. So far she has yet to run into another living soul (aside from a particularly ballsy squirrel that had run directly over her foot), but she imagines that other hikers will soon be making their way toward the top of the mountain. It’s a popular (and rather challenging) hike. Her legs are exhausted and her clothes cling to her skin, sweat causing a bit of itching in unpleasant places, but she also feels incredibly alive, sucking in deep breaths of cool morning air. 

Her feet tramp along the path with a new level of resolve. She can see the lookout just ahead–after nearly three hours of hiking, she’s almost made it. It’s the longest hike Jemma has ever attempted, and she swells up with pride when she thinks of how much she’ll brag to her friend Hunter when she’s had a nice long nap. 

“Pasty lab rat, my ass,” she grumbles to herself. “I’d like to see Boozy the Clown do this.” 

Her mumbling quiets completely when she steps out onto the lookout. The view of the forest is incredible. Birds fly in a large flock through the mist and Jemma gasps, all of her exhaustion melting away. 

It’s the most serene and beautiful moment in her entire life, completely quiet and calm. 

“Fucking hell,” a ragged, accented voice rasps out. She twists her neck to look at the trail leading from the other direction–she’d considered taking it for its shorter length but had opted against it, given its steeper incline. 

She’s a bit annoyed at his interruption but like her, he appears to be alone. He’s slight in build and has both hands on his hips, rubbing at the sweat on his brow. His eyes settle over the view and he stumbles forward, blue eyes wide with awe.

“Fucking hell,” he repeats. This time it’s reverent and soft and she giggles out loud. 

He jumps and spins around wildly. 

“Hello,” she greets. “Quite a view, isn’t it?” 

“It’s like–like the edge of nowhere,” he breathes. “Or everywhere. I don’t even know.” 

She nods in understanding. “Yes, exactly. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.” 

He gulps and collapses onto the ground, propping his elbows up on his knees as he guzzles down water from his backpack. 

“Do you mind if I join you?” she asks, gesturing at the grass beside him. He shakes his head and she roots through her own bag, pulling out the little snack packs she’d brought. “Would you like one?” 

His entire face lights up. “I think you might be an angel,” he grins. “I’d brought everything I need except for food and I’m bloody starving.” 

She tosses him a ziplock bag with a Cliff bar, a pouch of almonds, some dried fruits, and a bit of popcorn. He immediately rips it open and does a double take as she unpacks another identical pack–and he sees two more in her bag. 

“Are you alone?” 

“Yes,” she says casually, sipping at her water. “Why?” 

“You’ve brought enough food for four people.”

“I excel at preparation,” she tells him, eyes still facing out toward the view. “I’m Jemma, by the way.” 

“Fitz,” he introduces. “So what brings you up here all alone?” 

“My friend Hunter said I’m a pasty lab rat,” Jemma confides. “He said I probably couldn’t even walk a mile outdoors and I wanted to prove him wrong. I’m quite competitive, if I’m honest.” 

He barks out a laugh. “My friend Mack said practically the same thing. Turns out he may not have been wrong.” 

“Well you _did_ take the trail with the steepest incline,” she tells him with a little laugh. 

His jaw drops comically. “I did?!” 

“How about you hike back down with me? I’m afraid you might not survive if you don’t.” 

He beams back at her but rolls his eyes. “If it’ll make you feel better.”

It turns out that a three-hour hike is a great way to get to know someone, even if Fitz embarrasses himself by tripping over a tree root and Jemma worries that she’s bored him with her rapid babbling about the different species of plants along the trail. 

When they reach the parking lot at the trail head, he musters up his courage just as she opens the door to her car. 

“Hey, Jemma!” 

“Yes?” 

“This was fun.” 

“It was,” she agrees. 

“Maybe we could…get some food sometime? Somewhere nice. Somewhere–less sweaty.” 

She beams widely and holds out her hand for his phone. “That sounds lovely.” 

They both proved their friends incredibly wrong, and came back with a date to show for it. 

Jemma Simmons is _really_ competitive. 


	14. KISS (Keep It Simple Stupid)

“That’s it,” Jemma huffs, throwing her hands up. “We need a system.” 

Their lab is a mess. Samples litter every surface, intermingled with Fitz’s tools and mechanical parts. He’d thrown a stack of papers at the wall not too long ago, and they’d fluttered to the ground like a thin carpet. Jemma had grown accustomed to his little temper tantrums at the Academy–and admittedly, she’s about three seconds away from throwing one herself. 

“You’re right,” Fitz groans, slamming his forehead against the counter in front of him. “I think we need to KISS.” 

Jemma freezes, heart pounding as she spins around. “What?” 

Fitz looks up slowly. “Keep It Simple, Stupid.” 

Her brow furrows and the tantrum feels like it’s inevitable at this point. “First you want to kiss me and now you’re calling me stupid?” 

“No, no,” he rushes. “It’s an acronym. Keep It Simple, Stupid. K-I-S-S.” 

“And what does it stand for?” 

“It’s something the Navy came up with in the 60′s,” he explains. Then he grins at her. “I can’t believe you don’t already know this. It’s about procedures and protocols. That’s your favorite thing, next to homework.” 

She rolls her eyes. “So what does it mean?” 

“We’ve just got to keep it simple, otherwise we won’t remember the system and it won’t be efficient,” Fitz says. 

Jemma scoffs. “We’ve never needed to keep _anything_ simple, Fitz.” 

He gestures at the mess they’ve made. “Apparently, Simmons, we do now.” 

She sighs heavily and stares at the mess of samples. “If there was some way to indicate which samples were which–” 

“–we could organize them much faster,” he agrees. 

Jemma claps her hands together, taking charge with a renewed energy. Fitz is right; she truly does enjoy procedures and protocols and rules. And now she gets to make her own. 

“What if we do something alphabetical?” she suggests. “Nice and simple, something we can remember.” 

“A is for aqua is for aeronautics,” Fitz tries. She tilts her head to the side and he elaborates. “A color code. I can print my aeronautics schematics only on aqua paper. Or put aqua tabs on it or something.” 

She scrunches her face. “That might be a bit of a stretch. But it’s not a bad system. How about B is for Blue is for Biological? We’ll use only blue sample bags for biological samples. Other types will go in the clear bags.” 

“Brilliant, Simmons,” he says with a snap of his fingers. He takes a look at the daunting task in front of them and then back at his partner.

He’s not the slightest bit worried about whether or not they’ll pull this project off in the next five hours. He’s got the best person in the world on his team. 


	15. Towel Encounters

The reminders of what happened in Hydra’s captivity have long since faded from her skin, but she still revels in the blank slate of her back and shoulders every time she gets out of the shower. The smoothness of her own skin calms her and she tightens her towel around herself as she steps out into the hallway. 

Ordinarily she would slip on her robe but it’s the middle of the night and she suspects nobody will be out in the halls anyway. She swings the door open and collides immediately with a hard form, sending her backwards and loosening her grip on her towel. 

“Sorry!” Fitz exclaims, straightening her immediately. His hands even reach up to tug her towel higher and she nearly rolls her eyes. 

It’s been months since Maveth, and he’s still treating her with kid gloves. Once her ire settles back down, she notices that she’s not the only one in the hallway in nothing but her towel. 

His chest and neck are flushed pick and he avoids looking at her, but she’s too busy committing his torso to memory to really care. 

“I was just uh, gonna grab a shower,” Fitz says awkwardly. She finally looks back at his face and has the grace to look at least a little bit embarrassed. 

“Ah, yes. Right. Hence the–the towel.” 

“And yours,” he points out. 

“Right in one.”

She moves past him, annoyance rising once again. Every time they take one step forward they take five more back and he can blame it on the cosmos all he wants, but Jemma is perfectly content to blame it on him and his excessive considerations for her traumas.

“Hey wait, Jemma?” Fitz calls out. She spins around and nearly loses the towel again. 

“Yes, Fitz?” 

“What are you–do you want to–how about we go somewhere tomorrow?” 

“For dinner?” she challenges. 

“Yeah, for dinner. You know, someplace nice,” he blurts out. She doesn’t even bother trying to smother the beaming smile that spreads over her face. 

“That sounds quite nice. Shall I invite Daisy?” she teases. She can’t help it. 

“No, uh…me and you…just, um…” 

“I know, Fitz,” she says with a fond shake of her head. “I’m teasing you. See you tomorrow.” 

“Yeah. Tomorrow.” 

She really hopes that he’s already in the showers when she does a quick little shimmy of a happy-dance. She decides she really doesn’t want to turn around to find out. 

(Besides, she hears his victorious little whoop echoing off of the tiles. She’s not the only one that’s pleased with their progress).


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fitzsimmons + We take the same elevator every day and due to a misunderstanding I assumed you didn’t speak English and I’ve been talking to my friend about how hot you are for three weeks and apparently my friend has known from the start but you agreed not to tell me because you both think its hilarious

“Which floor?” she asks politely. His tongue suddenly stops working and he just–stares at her. Her brow furrows and she gestures at the buttons. “Floor? Which–which number?” 

 _Oh bloody hell_ , he thinks. _She thinks I don’t speak English._

He’s still not sure that he’s actually capable of speech. Her hair is too shiny and her smile is too bright and her accent is too adorable so instead he just reaches in front of her and presses the button for the 6th floor. The 9th floor button is also lit up, so he assumes she must work at the Law Offices of Melinda May. She’s a prominent defense attorney, his boss Phil’s biggest competitor in the courtroom, but for some reason Phil and Melinda get along quite well. They have lunch once a week. 

“Cooperation,” Phil always says. “That’s the actual key to law, not arguing.” 

Fitz isn’t so sure about that–and his co-worker and close friend Lance Hunter certainly disagrees with the sentiment, if the way that he and Bobbi Morse duke it out in court is any indication of his feelings on the matter. 

But Fitz has never seen her before, and he’d been pretty sure he knew every foreign-born attorney in the county. 

She’s still smiling at him, but her eyes look a bit afraid now, so he smiles back with an awkward nod. The elevator dings for his floor and he steps out as quickly as he possibly can. 

“Oh thank God,” he breathes when the door closes behind him, taking her up to her floor. Hunter stands just a few feet away in the small kitchen area, making himself a cup of tea. 

“Morning, Fitz,” he greets. “What’s got you so relieved? Did you finally get that discovery you needed from Garrett’s attorney?” 

He shakes his head. “No, Ward is still giving me the run-around. I just had the worst elevator ride of my life. Pretty girl from floor 9 talks to me and I just–clammed up. I’m almost positive she thinks I don’t speak English.” 

“British girl?” Hunter asks. “Tiny, short hair, big doe eyes?” 

“That’s the one,” FItz agrees, throwing his lunch into the communal fridge. Hunter barks out a laugh. 

“Jemma Simmons. I actually went to law school with her, she just moved from San Francisco. She’s a right know-it-all, I bet her and Bobbi will be thick as thieves. You should keep pretending not to speak English. It’ll be a fun prank against those sharks,” 

Fitz rolls his eyes. Hunter’s rivalry with Bobbi Morse often blurs the personal and professional. “I dunno, Hunter, I feel like I should tell her.” 

“It’ll be fine. It’s just elevator rides. When else are you going to see her?” 

And for some reason, Fitz can’t think of a single situation other than the elevator or the hallway that he might see her, even though they’re both lawyers in the same city, practicing on opposite sides of the bench. 

“Alright, fine,” Fitz concedes. “It might be fun. We haven’t got a good prank in a while.” 

Hunter claps him on the back and they head for their respective offices. 

*** 

For nearly a month, Fitz pretends not to speak English every single time he sees Jemma Simmons. It’s mostly just the elevator, but he’d had to stop talking when she’d appeared behind him in line at the coffee cart in the lobby. The barista, a friendly girl named Daisy, had seemed utterly confused as to what the hell he was doing with all of his pointing and gesturing. Jemma Simmons, helpful little sunflower that she was, had leaned forward and tried to translate. 

“I think he wants a medium chai tea,” Jemma says. “With– soy milk?” 

He desperately points at the regular milk but Daisy seems suspicious of him. She knows his regular order and she seems to get great pleasure from pouring soy milk into his tea. He glares at her when Jemma’s back is turned. 

“She’s really nice,” Daisy says to him through gritted teeth. “Whatever your game is, cut it out.” 

(Daisy had been the first victim of he and Hunter’s pranks. Apparently, she’s still not pleased about it). 

Jemma is always overly nice to him, rambling at him in the elevator. Perhaps it’s because she thinks he can’t understand him, but she tells him a shocking amount of personal details about herself. She moved from San Francisco after a bad breakup. She nearly adopted a cat the other day just because she was lonely, but she talked herself out of it at the last second–she’s still considering it. She and Bobbi had a wild weekend that resulted in Jemma waking up in bed with a plastic lizard and a jumpsuit on. 

He likes her. She’s charming and funny and has no concept of personal space. And he really, really regrets making her think that he can’t speak English because he’s pretty sure the two of them would never run out of things to say to each other. 

And that’s why he’s so horrified when he has to fill in for Victoria Hand at a hearing. He walks into the courtroom and sees Jemma standing on the side of the defense, next to some juvenile delinquent named Seth Dormer. His own client, or rather Victoria’s, is another teenager named Donnie Gil, and Jemma’s eyes widen almost comically when she sees him.

“Your Honor, I think there’s been a mistake,” Jemma says to Judge Fury. “Opposing council will need a translator.” 

Nick looks at her with his one eye, utterly unamused. “Mr. Fitz is perfectly capable of speaking the English language, Ms. Simmons.” 

Her head whips back to him and he smiles sheepishly. She looks briefly wounded before she collects herself. 

“Right, then let’s begin.” 

*** 

He catches her in the elevator the next day. She’d stormed out of the court room when the hearing was over (and she’d kicked his ass up and down, that’s for sure. He makes a note to never be on the opposing side of one of her cases again, if he can help it). 

When she spies him racing for the elevator she rapidly presses the door close button, with little success. He slips in with just enough room and pants, hands on his hips. 

“Jemma, I’m sorry,” he gets out. “I got–I got tongue tied the first time I saw you and then Hunter and I thought it would be a funny prank for some reason, and–” 

“Are you twelve?” she asks, voice an angry drawl. “We’re professionals. You ought to learn how to behave like one.” 

“I know!” he exclaims a bit desperately. “But hear me out. I–let me make it up to you.” 

She looks him up and down, arms crossed over her chest. “Fine. Meet me at Mackenzie’s tonight. You owe me at least three drinks. And at least five embarrassing stories.” 

He nods eagerly. “Yeah. Yeah, no problem.” 

He nearly forgets to get out on his floor until she coughs pointedly. 

Later that night, he finds out that she’s pretty quick to forgive as long as you buy her a few pints and grovel for approximately fifteen straight minutes, with an appropriate amount of praising of her lawyerly abilities. He tells her his most embarrassing stories and by the end of the night, she’s tossing peanuts for him to catch in his mouth and they’re finishing each other’s sentences.

It’s actually the best way one of his and Hunter’s pranks has ever ended, especially when she slips him her personal number on a cocktail napkin and tells him to call her next weekend. 


	17. Who'd Have Known--Hollywood AU

It’s nearly five o’clock in the morning when their conversation starts to taper off into short, fragmented sentences. 

Jemma yawns, a bit dramatically, and stretches upward. “I think I’m going to head to bed, Fitz.” 

She’s still in her ridiculously heavy dress, weighed down with an excessive amount of details and sequins, and his eyes follow her movements despite his obvious exhaustion. 

“Ah, I guess I’ll head home.” 

“Don’t be silly. You can stay here,” she chides, moving toward the stairs. She hears him haul himself off of the couch and move to follow her. Even though he has a designated guest bedroom, she’s hoping he’ll follow her into her room.

She’s not disappointed. She hears him sit heavily on the edge of her mattress, untying his dress shoes. She slips into a big t-shirt and a pair of shorts, grabbing a pair of his sweats when she comes out of the closet. She tosses them to him wordlessly and he smiles his gratitude. Once they’re both comfortable, he slides up a bit closer to her beneath the sheets and tentatively wraps an arm around her shoulders. She wriggles in as close as she can. 

“What time is our casting call?” she mumbles. 

“Not till 2:00,” he responds, voice nearly a whisper. “But I hear it’s gonna rain tomorrow.” 

Jemma huffs. “Which means everyone in this entire city will forget how to drive.” 

“Mhmm,” he mumbles in agreement. 

“Did you hear what Hunter said about us tonight?” Jemma asks shyly. 

“About us making him sick?” Fitz snorts. “As if he and Bobbi aren’t wrapped around each other like a pair of snakes everywhere that we go.” 

Jemma nods against his neck. “Well, you _did_ accidentally call me baby tonight.”

He stiffens and she nuzzles against his neck to let him know that she’s not uncomfortable with the idea. 

“I just didn’t think we were at pet-name level yet,” she teases. “And if we’re going to do that, perhaps we could choose a different one.” 

“Oh yeah?” he challenges. “What should I call you then? Honey? Sweetheart? My moon and stars?” 

“Go to sleep, Fitz.”   


	18. Babysitting for Huntingbird

Bobbi and Hunter’s child is, as she should have predicted, a complete and utter nightmare. Fitz comes sliding around the corner, covered in mud nearly head to tow. 

“Where did he go?” Fitz gasps, hands on his hips as he struggles for breath. Jemma stands in the middle of Bobbi and Hunter’s overturned living room, a pair of tiny pants in her hands.

“That way,” Jemma gets out, pointing toward the kitchen. A loud bang startles them both, and they exchange a wide-eyed look before running to the source of the sound.

Alfie has somehow managed to surround himself with pots and pans, and the two-year old bangs happily on them with a wild smile. He’s half-naked and muddy and Jemma decides that Alfie Hunter, this tiny child, is her new nemesis. 

“He’s my nemesis, Fitz,” she tells him quietly, watching Alfie wearily. Fitz snorts.

“He’s not that bad, Jemma.”

“Not that bad?!” she shrieks, voice raising several octaves. Her fiance winces. “You are covered in mud, this entire house is a mess, and _he shot me.”_

Fitz scoops Alfie up off of the ground and the little boy giggles when his godfather blows a raspberry on his belly. 

“He shot you with an ICER, Jemma. You were fine.” 

“You’re on his side!” 

“He’s a toddler!” 

“We’re never having children,” she snaps. His eyes widen and she begins cleaning up the many pots and pans scattered around the kitchen.

“C’mon, Jemma–” 

“You’re fraternizing with the enemy!”   
  
“The enemy is our godson, who just so happens to have been left in our care.” 

Jemma glares at him but wills herself to calm down. She loves Alfie. She was there the day he was born. He has Bobbi’s eyes and Hunter’s smile–Hunter’s mischievous, terror-causing smile. 

“I love him much more when we’re not the ones chasing him around.” 

“Jemmmmm,” he babbles, elongating his “m” in a hum. She freezes, staring at the baby’s grinning face. 

“Did he just say my name?” Jemma breathes. Fitz smiles at her knowingly. 

“Yeah, he did. Daisy’s been trying to be first, after mum and dad. She’ll be quite upset you know.” 

“Well of course I was first,” Jemma coos, reaching to take Alfie from Fitz. “We’re best friends, aren’t we?” 

“I thought he was your nemesis.” 

“That was before. Now we’re best friends. It wouldn’t be the first time I turned a nemesis into my best friend,” she teases, dropping a light kiss on Alfie’s forehead. 

“I’ll remind you again, I wasn’t your nemesis!” Fitz yelps, but his indignant quickly melts to fondness. Jemma’s blouse is muddied, her hair frazzled as she babbles at Alfie. 

“I do love him,” Jemma says. “You know that right?” 

“’Course I do,” Fitz says immediately. “Everyone does. But he’s a right pain in the arse, this one.” 

“Arse!” Alfie proclaims happily. He looks to Jemma, hoping for the same response he got for her name. Fitz expects her to be horrified, but instead, Jemma’s smile only grows. 

“Yes, Alfie, arse!” she giggles. She puts him back down and leans forward to Fitz conspiratorially. “That’ll teach those two, they’ll never ask us to babysit again.” 

Fitz barks out a laugh and takes her hand as they search out Archie’s next disaster. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place in a world where Jemma never got sucked into the Monolith. Fitzsimmons happily went on their date and decide to do something nice for Skye, since she’s dealing with everything that happened with her parents in the S2 finale.

“Did you get the right kind?” Jemma asks, rustling through the shopping bag he’s just set down in the kitchen. 

“Of course I did!” Fitz scoffs, rolling his eyes. Jemma pulls out jar of popcorn kernels and the bottle of popping oil, smiling happily. 

“It’ll be just like the movies!” she gushes. He watches her move around the kitchen like an overly-excited bird and shakes his head fondly. 

“Hopefully Skye is up for it,” Fitz says. “If she’s not, you can’t go getting all upset about it.” 

“Me?” Jemma asks. “Tell that to _yourself._  You’re the one who was upset that Bobbi didn’t want to play video games when you went to visit her last week.” 

“I just thought it could help with her recovery,” Fitz argues. 

“I know you did,” Jemma placates, patting his hand as she moves past him. He’s still adjusting to this, the little ways that she demonstrates her affection for him now. When he’d left for the store earlier, she’d reached up and kissed him casually in goodbye and it’d taken him nearly a full minute to start the car. 

Jemma hauls a large pot onto the stove, squirting some of the oil into the bottom and then dumping a sizable amount of kernels into it. 

“I could have built you something that would do the job twice as fast.” 

“A microwave?” she suggests cheekily. “Because i hate to break it to you, Fitz, but…” 

She points at the microwave beside her and he rolls his eyes. When the oil gets hot and the kernels begin popping, she begins incessantly shaking the pot over the stove, creating an excessive amount of noise. 

“Christ, Jemma, I don’t think you need to shake it that much.” 

She ignores him, going about her business until the lid of the pot is threatening to pop right off under the pressure of the popcorn. He comes up behind her and clicks the heat off, since her hands are occupied. She smiles gratefully and he places a kiss on her temple as he moves to find a large enough bowl. 

“Smells just like the microwave stuff, if you ask me,” he muses. When he straightens with a bowl in his hands, he’s met with a face full of popcorn and a grinning girlfriend.

“Did you really just do that?” Fitz asks slowly. Jemma nods, still smiling the cat that got the canary, and Fitz darts past her to grab a handful of his own. “Oh, it’s on, Simmons.” 

She shrieks and ducks, but little pieces of popcorn remain in her hair. 

When Skye meets up with them to watch the movie, there’s hardly any popcorn left, and her friends are flushed red and covered in it.

“I don’t want to know,” she says immediately. holding her hands up. 

Fitz sheepishly holds out the large bowl, now only a quarter full.

“Uh….popcorn?” 


	20. Public Transit AU

Every single morning, he promises he’s actually going to talk to her. She gets on the bus two stops after he does, and by the time she does, there’s almost never a seat. He wordlessly offers her his and she shakes her head with a friendly smile and a “no thank you, I’m alright.” 

Then she puts on some headphones and turns on her music, subconsciously bopping along to the beat as the bus chugs along. He’s not sure where she gets off, since he gets off before her. 

And unfortunately for Fitz, that’s the first thing he blurts out to her. 

“Where do you get off?” he asks, voice cracking slightly. It’s only 7:30 a.m. and he hasn’t spoken to anyone yet; his roommate Hunter tends to sleep until the afternoon. “I mean, I get off before you. I mean–uh–” 

She saves him with a surprised, musical laugh that makes him feel like he’s just chugged a soda pop. “I get off on 7th,” she says. “Which, for the record, is a rather creepy thing to ask a woman you don’t know.” 

He cringes and debates the merits of jumping out of the bus window while it’s still moving. It doesn’t open all the way, but his scrawny string-bean body may finally come in handy. Perhaps all the bullying he’d endured was worth it after all. 

She pokes his shoulder and crinkles her nose. “I’m kidding. If you were going to murder me, you’d have done it already.” 

“Ah, yes,” he says awkwardly. “I’m uh–my name is Fitz.” 

“I’m Simmons,” she replies. Then she winces and bites her lip. “I mean, my name is Jemma. You just–you said your last name, so I said mine.” 

The tall blonde woman that he sits next to nearly every morning bangs the side of her head against the window. He’s pretty sure it’s because she can’t believe how horrible this conversation is going. 

“My first name is Leo. Please don’t call me that, though. Just wanted to level the playing field.” 

Jemma laughs again and he quickly decides that he should probably add “making an angel laugh” to the special skills section of his resume. 

He takes the early bus because traffic gets too backed up if he leaves any later, so he knows he’ll be nearly an hour early for work. Mustering up every ounce of his courage, he gulps and glances up at her where she stands beside his seat. 

Then the bus driver slams on the brakes and she topples onto him, elbowing him right in the throat. He chokes loudly and the blonde woman next to him lets out a full-blown laugh at his predicament. He glares at her and she just shrugs, painted red lips quirked upward in unapologetic amusement. 

He reaches up a hand to touch his injured neck, and it brushes directly over her breast. 

The bus window looks all the more tempting, but then Jemma tilts her head and frowns at him. 

“Oh, no,” she gasps. “I’m so sorry! Please, let me–let me get you a cup of tea. We’re nearly at your stop.” 

“That’s,” he gasps out, “that’s uh–not necessary Miss Simmons.” 

Miss Simmons? What the fuck? 

“Well maybe you could buy me one?” she asks tentatively. Her cheeks are bright pink and he’s pretty sure that his breathing is never going to come back if she keeps looking at him like that. He must take too long responding because she quickly looks at the ground. “I’m sorry, I’m really…it’s too early to be so forward, isn’t it?” 

“No!” he quickly says. The bus dings his stop and he leaps up, bumping rather roughly into her. “Sorry. I’d love to buy you a cuppa. After all, I probably owe you after groping you on a public bus.” 

The blonde lady laughs once again. “Enjoy, you two!” 

A week later, when they get on the bus together at his stop, the blonde woman stands from her usual seat at the window with a smirk, moving to sit in the row behind her usual spot. Fitz gives her a thumbs up, and she shoots him a wink.


	21. Man of Honor

“I am not wearing that,” Fitz says immediately when Skye holds it up to him with waggling eyebrows. He deeply regrets ever agreeing to be in this wedding.

“I’m the bride,” she reminds him with a sassy grin. “And you’re my man of honor.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Why are you and Trip so weird?” 

“Well, you’re definitely going to like his best woman,” Skye points out for the thousandth time. “So you’ll be thanking us both for our weirdness.” 

“I don’t care if she’s a Victoria’s Secret model who loves short Scottish men and loves to talk electronics. I’m not wearing that orange monstrosity for any woman,” he insists as Skye shakes the sherbet colored tux at him. 

“Aw, c’mon!” Skye whines. 

“That’s a shame. I actually do love to talk electronics,” a crisp British voice rings out. Fitz spins around and his jaw nearly drops at the gorgeous creature in front of him. She puts her arms out and does a little spin, the midnight blue of the strapless, structured dress glinting in the light. “Trip wanted me to come over here and show you this.” 

“It’s gorgeous!” Skye gushes. She drops the orange tux on the ground and the tailor, an intimidating woman in a flower dress, glares. Fitz rushes to pick it up and put it back on the rack. “I guess Fitz can be spared the orange tux. It’ll glass with this beauty.” 

Jemma laughs and reaches past Skye to hold out her hand. “You must be Fitz. I’m Jemma, Trip’s best woman.” 

“I ah, figured. Nice to finally meet you.” 

“Likewise,” she smiles. “Sorry I’m not exactly Victoria’s Secret material.” 

He opens his mouth to come up with something, anything to say, and instead just makes a choked sound. 

Skye jumps into save him. “I dunno, Jem, I’ve seen you in a bikini. I definitely think you could be an Angel.” 

“Watch yourself,” Jemma jokes. “Or I’ll have to warn Trip that his bride-to-be has a wandering eye.” 

Skye giggles and returns her gaze to the suits in front of her. “Can you help me find something that matches? I’ll go tell Trip that this one is it.” 

“No problem,” Jemma says, shifting in her borrowed heels. “Alright, Fitz, let’s find you something presentable.” 

She settles on a charcoal grey suit with a skinny navy tie, shooing him toward the dressing room. He’s not used to wearing his suits so…fitted, although Skye has repeatedly told him that he looks like a little boy in his over-sized blazers. When he walks out, her eyes roam over him and he decides that he’s going to live in this suit for the rest of his life. 

“It’s perfect,” she declares. “Come on, let’s go show Trip and Skye.” 

He follows after her and trips rather embarrassingly over his feet when she looks over her shoulder at him. 

“And by the way, I do happen to be into men that are around my height but heavier than me.” 

“What?” he says after a beat. She cringes. 

“I’m rather awful at this flirting thing, aren’t I?” 

“Flirting?” he repeats dumbly. She nods and toys with the bottom of her short hair. 

“Well, an attempt at it anyway. Trip thinks we’d get on rather well, and he knows me and he seems to know you, so…” 

“Want to grab a drink after this?” Fitz finally blurts out. She blushes prettily and nods. “Good. It’ll be nice to have someone to talk electronics with.” 

She laughs and gestures at the dressing room. “I’ll go change. You show Trip and Skye that suit. And tell them that if they want you in anything else, they’ll have to fight me.” 

He salutes her. “Will do, captain.” 

Maybe being a man of honor isn’t that bad. 


	22. FitzSimmons Take Coachella (Hollywood AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That Time FitzSimmons Went to Coachella, from the Hollywood AU (All the Bright and Precious Things)

> The music is loud, it’s entirely too hot, and he’s definitely sunburnt absolutely _everywhere._
> 
> But none of that is of any real concern to him right now, because he’s managed to lose Jemma. The crowds are huge and Jemma is tiny, despite her insistence that she’s perfectly average in size. She’s wearing a red flower crown, he remembers that, and her hair is wavy today, flowing down her back, her tiny white crop-top leaving little to the imagination…
> 
> He shakes himself. Now is not the time to be having pervy thoughts about his best friend. He’d wanted to stay in the VIP tent, sipping cold beer and listening to the band at the MainStage, but she’d insisted on “experiencing the real Coachella.” 
> 
> And here he is, desperately searching for her and trying to stay calm despite the fact that he’s drunk and his body feels like it’s on fire. 
> 
> He takes several deep breaths and focuses, thinking of all the things she’d said she had wanted to do when they first got to the grounds that morning. Making up his mind, he heads over to the booths with merchandise. She’d wanted a t-shirt for one off her favorite bands. 
> 
> He’s nearly there when he hears her. 
> 
> “Oh, no thank you,” she practically shouts over the music. “I’m not interested.” 
> 
> “Come on, girl,” the scrawny, long-haired asshole smirks. “It’s a real fun trip, I’m telling you.” 
> 
> She’s sitting in the back of some van–seriously, Jemma?–and she’s surrounded by musical equipment and what is obviously a band of idiots. The one talking about drugs has a hand creeping up Jemma’s thigh, exposed by her high-waisted shorts, and his temper flares violently. 
> 
> “Oi!” he calls out, using the last of his totally spent energy to run the remaining distance between them. “She said no, ya prick.” 
> 
> The man snorts. “Oh man, is this Leo fucking Fitz?” 
> 
> “It is,” Fitz retorts. “And Leo fucking Fitz is about ten seconds away from kicking your ass if you don’t get your hand off of her leg right now.” 
> 
> Jemma’s jaw drops and something shifts in her hazy, buzzed expression. The guy immediately lifts his hands off of Jemma and holds them up. 
> 
> “Woah, sorry man.” 
> 
> “Come on, Jemma,” Fitz snaps, holding out his hand. She immediately runs toward him and throws her arms around his shoulders. He hugs her back, even though she’s sweaty and kind of gross. 
> 
> “Thank you, Fitz,” she breathes into his ear. “You’re the hero.” 
> 
> He grins into her neck and uses his one free hand to flip off the assholes that are still quite obviously checking out Jemma’s ass. 
> 
> “Nah,” he shrugs, extricating himself from her but still holding her hand tightly. “New rule for the rest of the festival. No splitting up, yeah?” 
> 
> “Definitely,” she nods. “Let’s go back to the tent.” 
> 
> “Done experiencing the real Coachella?” he mocks. She bats at his shoulder but laughs.   
>   
> “Yeah, I think I am,” she says. “Besides, it wasn’t any fun without you. Nothing ever is.” 
> 
> He’s knows she’s drunk and tired and quite possibly as minor heatstroke (he’s pretty sure he does, at least), but her words still shoot right to his heart and he squeezes her hand. 
> 
> He never wants to come back to this godforsaken place again, but for her, he’d come every year. 


	23. Empire State of Mind

> Jemma stands at the railing, gazing out at the glittering lights of New York City. She’s always wanted to go to the top of the Empire State Building, and it’s the perfect night for it. Even better, the entire place has been evacuated due to an O84. 
> 
> They’d boxed it up quickly, and Coulson had suggested taking a moment to enjoy the view while they could. It’s been a long few months since Fitz and Coulson returned from their brief trip to Maveth. Between hunting Death, coming to terms with the fate of Will Daniels, and their attempts to capture (and cure) Lash, they’ve hardly had a moment to breath. 
> 
> Jemma smiles as Fitz moves to stand beside her. Her eyes flit over to him, but his gaze remains straight ahead. 
> 
> “Did you know that on a clear day you can see five states from up here?” he finally asks. 
> 
> Jemma smiles and shakes her head. “I didn’t know that. Any other fun facts, Dr. Fitzy?” 
> 
> He grins at the old moniker and continues. “I went through a phase where I thought I might want to be an architect,” he explains. “I read about this building a lot.” 
> 
> “Your mum told me about that,” she muses. “The first time we visited, and she showed me all those lego inventions you’d built.” 
> 
> “Can’t believe she kept those,” he says fondly. She moves a bit closer to him and leans her head on his shoulder. He doesn’t stiffen, as he might have even a month ago. Instead, he rests his cheek on the top of her hair. 
> 
> “Well here’s a fact for you,” Jemma says. “Did you know that the top of this building is used to broadcast–” 
> 
> “–most commercial TV and radio stations in the city?” he finishes. She pinches him lightly. 
> 
> “You stole my moment,” she pouts. He grins and loops an arm around her waist. 
> 
> “Alright, fine. Give me another one, and I won’t even interrupt you this time.” 
> 
> She takes a deep breath and he wonders what kind of fact she could possibly have that would make her so serious all of a sudden. 
> 
> “In the right atmospheric conditions, couples can feel a static shock if they kiss up here,” she tells him quietly. She backs up just enough to look at him, their faces just inches apart. She grabs his hand that’s still on the railing and his eyes are drawn to her lips. 
> 
> “Oh?” he whispers. “And what conditions are those?” 
> 
> “It might require some experimentation,” she replies softly. She looks behind him and sees Lincoln watching them. He throws her a wink just before her eyes flutter shut, and as she presses her lips to his, a brief jolt of electricity flows through her. She takes her hand off of the railing to place it on his face and he pulls her closer, slowly and softly. 
> 
> She decides not to tell him that the atmospheric conditions of this particular night weren’t proper for that particular phenomenon, and she’s sure Lincoln will keep her secret. 
> 
> Besides, Fitz doesn’t seem to complain when they break apart briefly only for him to pull her back in for more and the shock _doesn’t_ happen. She takes a page out of Bobbi’s book and, when they’re back on the quin jet, attaches a small keychain of the Empire State Building to his keys for the lab.  
> 
> Every now and then, she catches him rubbing it with his fingers when he’s trying to work out a problem. It’s her new favorite habit of his. 


	24. Shots Fired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fitz gets shot on a mission

She’s waiting when the plane lands, pacing anxiously with a surgical mask already tied around her neck. She’s got gloves on and her lab coat securely over her clothes, the ring Fitz gave her just last month moved to the chain around her neck. 

It’s not an engagement ring, but it’s a promise. It’s a promise of “come back to me” and “more than that” and “maybe there is.” 

Hunter pushes him out on the gurney, Daisy running along on the other side, and his face is truly distressed. Seeing the base’s resident joker look so grave and serious sends a bolt of worry through her gut and she plants her feet to prepare herself for what she’s about to witness. 

The wound is right through his gut, so close to where Daisy was shot in another life. This time, there’s no GH-325. There’s just her. Just her and her human error and she feels the entire world sway around her. 

May’s arms come up to catch her from behind and Lincoln rushes forward, snapping on a pair of gloves and shouting out orders to Bobbi. Jemma had intended to lead the med team today, but there’s no way that it’s happening.

“Let them work,” May says quietly. 

“FITZ!” Jemma finally screams. “FITZ!” 

She runs forward and May pulls her back. “You have to let them work, Jemma. They’re good. You know they are.” 

Lincoln is an actual doctor, after all, and Jemma herself is not. There’s nothing that she could do for Fitz that Lincoln couldn’t, and before she knows it she’s wrenching into a bin and May is holding her hair back. 

“Come on,” May urges softly. “Let’s go wait somewhere more comfortable. You need to sit down.” 

Not for the first time, Jemma is thrown off by May’s gentleness. She sits beside her on the couch, unmoving and stoic, while Jemma herself can’t stop fidgeting. Her hands move the ring, sliding it over the chain repeatedly, and her knee bounces rapidly. 

It feels like days before Lincoln is striding out of the med room, smeared with blood–Fitz’s blood–and Jemma swears she’s going to vomit again. 

“He’s alright,” Lincoln breathes. “He lost a lot of blood but the bullet just missed his lung.” 

Jemma slumps forward, exhausted by her own relief, and May tugs her upward. 

“You should be there when he wakes up,” May tells her, taking most of her weight and walking her to the medical unit. Jemma grabs onto Lincoln’s hand, squeezing it gratefully. 

“Thank you so much,” she whispers. “Thank you.” 

“Of course,” the doctor smiles. He looks pretty emotional himself, and May quickly ushers Jemma forward once again before both of them can start crying in the hallway. 

Jemma collapses into the chair next to Fitz’s cot and May leaves her alone, opting to guard the end of the hall from any unwanted visitors, at least until Jemma has had her chance to be with Fitz alone. 

“Hi,” Jemma whispers, lifting his bruised knuckles to her lips. She lets out a quick gasp of air, choking on a sob, and it feels altogether too much like that day he’d left her in the locker room to get the job done. “Lincoln says you’re going to be fine, but I won’t believe him until you open your eyes. I didn’t do the surgery myself. I can’t believe I trusted someone else with you. Don’t make me regret that, Fitz. Wake up for me, please.” 

The steady beeping of the heart monitor fills the silence and she watches his chest rise and fall, greedy for any signs of life. His face is slack, oxygen running through his nose, but the stubble on his face and the sharper edge of his cheekbones is a stark contrast to the days after the med-pod. It’s comforting, in some way, but also terrifying. 

She’s not sure when they started to get old. For so long, she’d thought they would be young forever. Even after the med-pod and then the portal, part of her had always felt that they were somehow invincible. 

The bleeding bandage around his shirtless middle tells her otherwise, screams it at her in the quiet of the room, and she sobs wildly, dropping her head to the cot and squeezing his hand tightly in hers. 

“Hey, shh,” his groggy voice croaks. Her neck cracks when her head flies up to look at his face, and he weakly tries to brush her hair off of her wet cheeks. He doesn’t succeed, and his hand falls limply to the mattress. “I’m okay, Jem. I’m okay.” 

“Jem?” she manages to laugh around another sob. “Since when do you call me that?” 

“Since I died and came back to life,” he mumbles cheekily. She would smack him if he wasn’t injured.

“That’s not funny,” she says harshly. He sighs and nods. 

“I know. But I still came back to you, didn’t I?” 

“Of course you did,” she says, free hand coming up to toy with her necklace. “But next time I fully expect you to come back with no bullet holes.” 

Fitz attempts to sit up and hisses in pain. She sits up straighter and looks at his IV, turning up his morphine drip. 

“Perks of dating the doctor,” Fitz grins lazily as the medication runs through him. Jemma rolls her eyes and wipes at her wet cheeks.

“I’m serious, Fitz,” she tells him sternly. “Never again.” 

He squeezes her hand weakly and nods. “I don’t…I think I’m done with the field, Jemma.” 

She’s a bit ashamed that it makes her so excited to hear it. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” he sighs. “It’s…I’ve got too much to lose, now.” 

She sits up and carefully kisses his lips. “So do I. I think a life as a lab rat by your side doesn’t sound half bad.” 

“Not bad at all.” 


	25. Wet T-Shirt

“Damn, Simmons,” Daisy whistles as Fitz climbs out of the pool with a groan. “Your boy has really filled out.” 

Fitz’s black shirt clings to him, weighed down by the water, and Jemma is sure that she’s looking at him like prey. Daisy has been fishing to find out what’s going on between them for weeks, and Jemma does her best to school her face into a neutral expression. 

“I suppose he has,” Jemma shrugs as nonchalantly as possible. She’s never been a good liar, though, and Daisy snorts inelegantly. 

“If you had a ding-a-ling, you’d be pitching a serious pants tent right now,” Daisy scoffs. “Don’t try and act like you don’t wanna jump his slight but strong bones.” 

Jemma’s entire body flushes and she smacks her friend on the shoulder. “If you must know, I was rather worried about him doing this dive test.” 

It’s practice for an upcoming mission. He’ll need to disable a potent weapon underwater, and ever since Coulson briefed them on it she’s been having nightmares of the med pod all over again. What Daisy doesn’t know is that the nightmares don’t seem so bad when she wakes up beside him and sees that he’s just fine, breathing steadily beneath her head. 

Daisy’s grin falls and she grabs Jemma’s forearm. “Shit Jemma, I’m sorry.” 

Jemma shakes her head. “It’s alright, Daisy.” 

She feels bad for guilting her friend, so she decides to give Daisy a bit of what she wants. 

“You do have a point about Fitz,” Jemma observes. He’s talking to Hunter, hands on his hips in his wet tact-gear. He glances over at her and gives her a little smile, a reassurance that he’s just fine even after dragging himself up from the bottom of the pool. He’d been wearing an oxygen mask, she reminds herself. He would be fine on the mission. 

Daisy’s concern melts away immediately, her matchmaking mission taking precedence. “Too bad I didn’t get on that when I had the opportunity.” 

Jemma’s jaw drops and she turns to glare at her friend. “Yes, well, unfortunately that moment is gone.” 

Daisy lets out a surprised bark of laughter. “So you _are_ sleeping together.” 

“We’re not–I mean, we’re–we’re not just sleeping together,” Jemma protests, then slaps her hands over her mouth. Her own indignance at the implication that she and Fitz could just be fuck buddies or something revealed her secret.

Daisy throws an arm around her. “I’m happy for you guys. And I’m sorry I tricked you into telling me.” 

Jemma bumps her hip lightly. “Just keep it between us, yes?” 

“Of course.”

By lunchtime, Bobbi, Hunter, and Mack have all congratulated them. Jemma doesn’t even both pretending to be mad, especially since Daisy sends a picture of Fitz in that clingy black shirt to her tablet. 


	26. FitzSimmons, Static Quake, and Huntingbird + High School Hang

They’re an odd group. Bobbi Morse, cheer captain and, with the shiny new tiara on her head, prom queen. Jemma Simmons and Leo Fitz, the AP nerds. Daisy Johnson, tech-obsessed YouTuber. Lincoln Campbell, the quiet and moody film kid. And Lance Hunter, the trouble-making soccer star. 

But they’d all been grouped together in Social Studies on the first day of their freshman year ( _how did all the Brits end up in one group?_ Daisy had asked), and somehow that one silly project had bonded them in an unexpected way. 

As seniors, they’re sitting in Bobbi’s backyard at 2 o’clock in the morning. Lance’s feet hang in her pool his free arm around his girlfriend. Lincoln is the only one sipping on a soda that’s not spiked with something–after his older brother passed away in a drunk driving accident, he’d sworn to stay away from the stuff, but he didn’t mind being around his buzzed friends as long as nobody had any intentions of leaving. 

“It’s almost the end,” Bobbi says suddenly. Even though she’s changed into jeans and a t-shirt, she’s still wearing her prom crown, and her makeup still shimmers in the dim light. Jemma and Fitz look up from their place near the pool stairs, and Jemma’s hand immediately reaches for Fitz’s knee. 

“It’s not really the end though,” Daisy says optimistically. Bobbi might be the cheerleader, but Daisy is always the one to bring things back to a positive vibe. “FitzSimmons are going to college together. You and I are staying local, Hunter is only gonna be two hours north, and Lincoln’s just an hour south.” 

Jemma smiles at them all, a bit sadly. “People do grow apart though. We’ll probably all change a lot in college.” 

“Of course we will,” Lincoln agrees. “But that doesn’t mean we won’t still be changing together.” 

“Yeah, c’mon,” Fitz jumps in. “We’ll still be friends.” 

“Let’s make a pact,” Hunter suggests, sipping at his whisky and coke from the red plastic cup in his hand. “No matter what, every year we’ll spend New Years Eve together. And the summer after we’ve all graduated college, we’ll take a trip somewhere, a whole week.” 

Bobbi smiles and leans her head against his shoulder. “I’m in.” 

Everyone else chants their acceptance of the pact and Daisy stands up, brushing her hands over her jeans. “Lincoln, you’re good to drive, right?” 

“Aren’t I always?” he laughs. She pecks him on the cheek and looks at the others. 

“I’ve got an idea.” 

“She always does,” Hunter jokes. “Alright, what is it?” 

“Let’s go to our spot. The Top of the World. The place is covered in graffiti anyway. Let’s make our mark there–a reminder that we were here, ya know? No matter what comes next?” 

Jemma shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t know…” 

“You’re almost done with high school,” Hunter wheedles. “I think this calls for some bad girl shenanigans, don’t you?” 

Fitz squeezes her hand encouragingly. “It could be fun.” 

They have a silent conversation, the kind that drives their other friends crazy, and they agree. 

Hunter grabs spray paint from the back of his truck outside and ignores all questions as to why he has it. Hiking up the mountain behind Bobbi’s backyard isn’t easy on a good day, and it’s even more difficult when most of your little team is fairly drunk, but they manage it. From their favorite flat rock, you can see their entire small town, stretching out in front of them in the warm early-summer air. 

Lincoln’s the most artistic of them all, and he takes the blue paint and writes out their names like an acrostic. First is J. Simmons, then L. Hunter, then L. Fitz, then B. Morse, then L. Campbell, and lastly D. Johnson. 

“SHIELD,” Jemma reads. She grabs the can of paint and shakes it, autographing her name up toward the top before she hands it to the others. They each write out their own names and then Daisy gets ahold of it. 

In large, block letters she scrawls the words “WE WERE HERE”, their graduation year just beneath it. 

They watch the sunrise over their city from that rock, completely sobered. They’ve coupled off, like usual, but they’re all connected somehow, through crossed ankles and arms intertwined behind their backs, supporting themselves on the rocks. 

“We were here,” Fitz says quietly into the pink morning. He looks over at Jemma and is struck, not for the first time, how perfect his girlfriend is. His eyes settle over his friends and the same feeling swells in his chest. 

“You bet we were,” Hunter seconds. “And we’ll be back.” 

Four years later, they are. 


	27. Fitz Gets A Service Dog (Season 2 AU)

“Jem–Jemma,” Fitz protests when she sets the wriggling chocolate lab puppy on his lap. “This isn’t–it’s not–ugh.” 

“It’ll be good for you,” she tells him easily. “There’s been extensive research that service dogs are quite adept at holding off panic attacks, and we can even teach him to bring you things or hold things for you, so you don’t have to use your bad hand.” 

“It’s too–it’s too–” 

“Noticeable?” she finishes. He’s been frustrated lately, and she doesn’t blame him. She hates the way the new lab techs stare at him, too. She’d recently been told off by Coulson for nearly attacking some underling who’d had the audacity to whisper something about Fitz’s inadequacies under her breath. Trip had pulled her away by the waist while she flailed and shouted. 

 _“He’s twice as smart as you’ll ever be, you ignorant, foul, horrid little cockroach!”_ she’d shouted. Once she’d calmed down, Trip had fist-bumped her. 

 _“Get ‘em girl,”_ Trip had grinned. 

So yes, they’re both frustrated. His recovery is slow, his tumultuous emotional state not helping matters in the slightest. 

“I know it’s not quite a monkey,” she says softly, one hand resting on his cheek. The puppy props his little paws up on Fitz’s shoulder and sniffs loudly in his ear, causing him to bark out a laugh. “But he’ll do, don’t you think? He seems to like you.” 

Fitz leans into her touch, taking a deep breath and reminding himself that she’s trying to help. It’s all she’s ever doing, these days, and he just wants to stop holding her back. He wants to stop stealing her brilliant smiles and her amazing mind and he wants so badly for things to go back to the way that they were. 

“The way things were are gone,” she murmurs. It’s like she’s read his mind, and even after a decade he’s never quite gotten used to that. “But we can have something new. Together. You and me and…” 

“Rudolph,” he interrupts. His voice is clear and stammer-less, and she smiles at him tenderly. “Rudy for–for short.” 

She grins. “The first law of thermodynamics.” 

“No energy can be–created or uh, or destroyed.” 

Her lips finds his forehead and her hand scratches behind little Rudy’s ears. “He’ll need some training, but Trip has some experience with it. He trained seeing eye dogs when he was young.” 

“Of course he does,” Skye cuts in as she walks in. “I wanted to see the little monster.” 

She winks at Fitz and pulls the puppy from his lap. 

“And the dog too, I guess,” she smiles. Fitz rolls his eyes but smiles back and watches Jemma and Skye coo over the little puppy. Maybe Jemma has a point. Maybe it’ll help. 

Even just the warmth of the dog had calmed him, the feeling of his soft fur loosening the knot that had been tangled from his chest. 

While Skye runs around the common space with the dog nipping at her heels, Jemma takes a seat beside him and places her hand over his trembling one. 

“We’re a bit like the first law of thermodynamics ourselves, Fitz,” she tells him. “No one else could have what we have. And nothing can destroy us.” 

He nods, swallowing down the tightness in his throat. 

“Thank you,” he gets out. “You’re my–my best friend.” 

She takes in a shuddering breath and tightens her grip on his hand. She leans in and whispers in his ear. 

“Yeah, and you’re more than that.” 

His breath hitches and he stares at her in surprise. She just beams at him, a bit teary-eyed, and he raises his good hand to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, leaning in a bit closer. 

“Ow!” Skye exclaims, breaking through their moment. “Fitz, your puppy bit me!” 

“You shouldn’t–don’t antagonize him,” Fitz defends, standing to move for Rudy. “Come here.” 

Rudy dashes for him clumsily and licks at his face. 

A few months later, Rudy follows him everywhere, often pushing him away from projects as he gets too frustrated and holding tools loosely between his teeth. He especially enjoys movie nights with Fitz, Jemma, Skye, and Trip. Skye always sneaks him too many treats and Trip chides her half-heartedly, arm around her shoulders. Jemma revels in the feeling of Fitz’s chuckle echoing through his chest and into her ear, where it rests on him. Rudy lays at their feet, a warm weight to anchor them down.  


	28. Cravings

He startles from a particularly unsettling dream and finds her side of the bed empty. It’s rare, these days, that she sneaks out of bed to watch the sunrise. Naturally, he’s immediately concerned. 

He’s become a lighter sleeper in the past few years, and he’s sure he would have woken up if someone had come and _taken_ her. Before his thought process can go full-Liam Neeson _(I know you have my wife, when I find you I’m going to kill you_ ) he calms himself down and rolls out of bed and into a pair of sweats. 

He pads out into the common area, half-expecting her to be sprawled out on the couch with the latest Biochemistry journal. He stands in the middle of the empty room, hands on his hips, and sighs. 

That’e when he hears the clatter in the kitchen. 

He strides in there, blinking back surprise at the sight in front of him. The fridge door is open and his wife (he still hasn’t gotten quite used to that phrase, yet) stands in front of it with a sandwich in hand. She looks to be nearly done, but there’s also water boiling on the stove next to a box of uncooked pasta, the family size bag of crisps appears to be empty, and she’s covered in incriminating crumbs. 

“Jemma?” he asks hesitantly. His voice cracks with disuse and she whirls around with wide eyes. 

“What are you doing up?” she asks. 

“Had a weird dream and when I woke up you weren’t there,” he explains, sliding onto one of the bar stools. “Why are you eating…well, everything?” 

She cringes and turns away from him, free hand on her still-flat stomach. She’d had her suspicions for a few weeks now, and Bobbi had gone out and bought some pregnancy tests for her that afternoon. Unable to sleep due to her inexplicably bottomless appetite (or, perhaps, explicably after all) she had taken all three pregnancy tests.

They all said positive. 

Jemma planned on telling him in a way that was special. Maybe by giving him a present of baby booties, or a tiny monkey hat, or something else–but instead, she’s going to have to tell him in her pajamas, covered in food with mustard smeared on her cheek. 

“Jemma?” he repeats, concern seeping into his voice. She realizes she’s just been staring blankly into the refrigerator, and he walks around the counter and closes it, putting himself between her and the appliance. “Talk to me. I’m worried.” 

She takes a deep breath and puts down the sandwich. “I was going to tell you tomorrow, but…well, it’s not really me that’s hungry.” 

He furrows his brow. “Are you…cooking for someone else?” 

“You could say that,” she says, widening her eyes and glancing furtively down at her own stomach. 

“I uh…I don’t think I’m following here, Jemma,” he says, rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

“Ugh, Fitz!” she exclaims, throwing her hands up. 

“Don’t “ugh, fitz” me! It’s nearly four o’clock in the bloody morning. I’m not at my best right now,” he defends. 

She sighs and places a hand on his chest. “Fitz, I’m–well, at least all the at-home tests say that I’m–that we’re–expecting.” 

“Expecting what?” 

“A baby,” she sighs with a roll of her eyes. His jaw goes completely slack and he looks a bit like a cartoon character. 

“You’re–we’re–there’s gonna be a–” 

“Mhm,” she hums. “We’re going to have a baby.” 

“A baby?” he asks, voice raising in pitch. “On a–on a SHIELD base?” 

Her face falls. “I know we had said we didn’t want to start trying until we’d had a few more years in the field, get ourselves a cottage in Perthshire but…” 

“But nothing,” he interrupts. His smile is wider than she’s ever seen it and he pulls her into him with little regard for her disheveled state. “This is the happiest day of my life.” 

Then he’s picking her up clumsily and making all kinds of noise, waking the rest of the base with his carrying on. Jemma half-heartedly scolds him, but it’s not her best work. She’s entirely unconvincing with happy tears in her eyes. 

The only problem is that they live on a paramilitary base, so of course most of their friends storm the kitchen with guns hot. 

“It’s fine!” Fitz shouts when their footsteps get closer. “Just me and Jemma!” 

“What did I tell you about sex in public areas?” Daisy whines. “You guuuuuys.” 

“We’re having a baby!” Fitz blurts out. “A real life, actual, human baby!” 

“What other kind of baby would they even be thinking of?” Jemma muses, and she forgets to be cross with him for saying anything before they’ve run more tests, and then she’s being wrapped up in May’s arms. 

She didn’t exactly expect May to be the first to rush at her, but something about it feels right. 

“You’re going to be great,” May says quietly into her ear. Jemma nods gratefully and accepts the congratulations from nearly the entire base. The sun rises through the window in a far away hallway. 

Jemma doesn’t notice. She’s too busy watching Fitz animatedly talk about designing a protective crib with Mack. 


	29. Mouseketeers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Coulson taking fitzsimmons + others on a much needed break aka national lampoon's vacation AU

This is how it starts: Coulson pleading with May and repeatedly telling her that their core group of agents is in serious need of a break. Mack can hold down the fort, after all, since his interim directorship has been extended. He has plenty of Ops agents and scientists, but Daisy has been drowning in guilt over the Inhumans she couldn’t save from Hydra, and so has Lincoln. Fitz hasn’t been the same since the return from Maveth and Simmons, certainly, hadn’t smiled at anything or anyone other than Fitz in months. 

It’s only when Simmons quietly says that she thinks it might be a good idea that Melinda caves. 

So that’s how she finds herself in the passenger seat of an SUV, Daisy and Lincoln all the way in the back and FitzSimmons in the middle row. The scientists share one pair of headphones, hands clasped in the center seat. Lincoln sleeps on Daisy’s shoulder, and Daisy stares out at the scenery as they drive by. 

Their destination? Disneyland, something that Melinda can’t believe she’s even a part of, but Fitz’s eyes had lit up and he’d rambled about the engineering marvels of the earliest attractions there. Simmons had watched him attentively, fondness all over her face, and so Melinda had caved on their destination roadtirip being to…the Happiest Place on Earth. 

Daisy’s never been, even though she lived in L.A. for a long time. Lincoln hasn’t either, and Phil tried to go once on a short break from SHIELD but got called back into action. 

She’d have never guessed that she was the only one to ever step foot there.

The drive is long and exhausting, and they all nearly die when Fitz gets behind the wheel of the car, but they make it in one piece and check into the hotel–the actual Disneyland hotel. Daisy teases Phil and Melinda for sharing a room and neither of them even try to give her a speech about Lincoln because it’s all too far gone. 

“Fitz,” Simmons says excitedly, pointing at the man dressed in a giant Buzz Lightyear outfit. “Look! Like the Academy!” 

“Does someone want to explain that?” Lincoln asks. 

Fitz blushes. “Our second Halloween at the Academy, we dressed as Buzz and Woody.” 

Jemma grins and links her arm with his, and he looks considerably less upset. “I still have a pair of brown boots that say Andy on the bottom.” 

“D’you think my mum still has the functional jet pack in storage?” Fitz asks excitedly. “We should ask, have her send it over.” 

“Functional jet pack?” Coulson asks wearily. “I don’t think so, Fitz.” 

“It’s like Falcon’s!” Fitz protests. “The military used my basic schematics to design his gear.” 

Lincoln mutters something along the lines of “what the hell did I get myself into” under his breath, but he’s soon distracted by the prospect of heading to the park and going on rides. 

Their first day, Simmons covers Fitz in sunscreen while he complains, and then he wrestles her into a Mickey Mouse sweatshirt when the sun goes down even though she insists she isn’t cold. Daisy buys Coulson a pair of ears that say “A.C.” on them and Melinda is pretty sure he nearly cries. Lincoln keeps Daisy from quaking Space Mountain to make it even faster, and she surprises him with a Pineapple Whip, remembering his favorite fruit. 

Melinda takes pictures. Phil opens his mouth to comment on her uncharacteristic behavior, but one look keeps him quiet. She’s not sure she’s seen any of these kids–adults, she reminds herself–so happy and carefree in a long time. 

She decides to enjoy every moment of it, cataloguing their faces for the next time she fears they’ll never be the same. 

“They’re resilient,” Coulson observes as Daisy jumps on Lincoln’s back in front of them. Jemma has an arm around Fitz’s waist, his lazily draped around her shoulders. “They get that from you, you know.” 

“They’re not my children,” she says as coolly as she can. 

Coulson just crosses his arms and nudges her. “Might as well be.” 

Daisy reaches out a hand and Coulson smells trouble. 

“DAISY, NO!” he shouts ahead. She turns around and winks at him, and Lincoln nearly drops her, and then FitzSimmons begin bickering over where to go next, and it all just feels normal. 

“Mandatory vacation time may not be a bad idea,” Melinda finally says. Coulson smiles at her, and then the fireworks start. 


	30. Tipsy Huntingbird

Hunter isn’t exactly known for his modesty, but his ego tends to really show it’s face whenever there’s beer pong. So every time he and his roommates, Mack and Fitz, decide to throw a party, Hunter sets up the beer pong table and puts the bracket on the wall. 

He hasn’t lost a single game all night, and it’s just about 12:30 a.m. Fitz has already snuck off to Jemma’s house, as per usual, and Mack is holding people up for keg stands. 

Hunter spins the ping pong ball in his fingers and smirks at the crowd of people around him. “Looks like I’ve lost my partner, who wants to join me?” 

A few pretty girls offer, but he’s not so sure. He takes his beer pong seriously, and a pretty face won’t win the game for him. Especially since it’s the Koenig Twins up next, and they’ve got a freaky mind-twin thing going on. 

“I’ll play,” she says. He looks up and nearly chokes, because _Bobbi Morse_  is offering to be his partner in beer pong. 

Like her roommate Jemma, she’s known for being serious. Unlike her roommate Jemma, she’s absolutely not known for being any fun whatsoever.

“Sounds good,” he finds himself saying before he tosses her the extra ball. 

“Eye to Eye?” she asks one of the Koenigs. Hunter’s not sure if it’s Billy or Sam, and Hunter is about to tell her that he’s the one who makes the eye to eye shots, but then she’s death-staring at Koenig and arching a perfect shot into the corner cup. 

“Damn,” she breathes. “Impressive.” 

She lifts her drink to her lips and takes a long pull. “I’ve got good hand-eye coordination.” 

“Apparently,” he grins. He knocks his cup with hers and takes his shot, turning to her for a high-five, but she gives him a look. 

“That’s the bitch cup, not exactly worthy of a high-five.” 

He narrows his eyes. “Oi! I thought we were on the same team.” 

“We are, I’m just a tough girl to impress,” she says as she takes her next shot. It rolls over three cups and lands in one. “House rules?” 

“All of those go,” he smirks as the Koenigs morosely remove her cups. “And we get balls back.” 

The game doesn’t take long at all. In fact, the Koenigs never even get to touch the ball, until rebuttal and they both miss. 

“First ever beer pong shut out!” Mack cheers. “You two make one hell of a team.” 

Normally, Hunter would stay at the table all night with a steady flow of hot girls bringing him drinks. Then he’d head upstairs with one of them as the night dwindled down, and she’d be gone by the time he woke up.

But that’s not what he wants to do tonight. “Bobbi, right?” he asks, as if he doesn’t already know. 

“Yep,” she nods. “Hunter.” 

“Right in one,” he says. “Hey, listen, wanna–I have something to show you.” 

He leads her to his room and she instantly objects. “I don’t know what you think is happening here, but–” 

“Get over yourself,” he scoffs. He slides open his window and gestures out of it. “One of the best views in the city, I swear.” 

The townhouse he and his roommates live in is three stories, and she clambers onto the roof beside him with a surprising amount of agility for a girl drinking Daisy’s homemade Jungle Juice. 

“Wow,” she breathes. “This is amazing. Do you take all the girls out here?” 

“No, actually,” he answers honestly. “So Bobbi Morse, what’s your story?” 

She looks at him with guarded eyes. “What’s yours?” 

“Moved here to study abroad for my second year,” he says. “Then I went back home for a month and realized I couldn’t stand it, hanging out with the same dead-end blokes I’d been with since I was a kid. Applied to come back here full-time and I’ve been working on citizenship ever since.” 

Something flashes in her eyes and she nods in understanding. She tells him how she came to the city from the Midwest and wanted to move back for the first month until she got close with Jemma. She tells him about her overbearing parents and he tells her about his distant ones. They finish their cups of jungle juice and shoot them like basketballs into the neighbor’s trashcan over the fence. 

And then he kisses her, and she lets him, and when morning comes, she’s still there. 

He’s finally found something better than a beer pong table. 


	31. Superpower Soulmates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: FitzSimmons + Soulmate AU where you acquire a minor superpower when you meet your soulmate

Today has not been her day, and her bad luck seems to only be persisting when she drops her wine glass and shatters it on the bar. The bartender glares at her and finishes making the drink in front of her before she comes back over to clean up Jemma’s mess.

She’s so focused on her own panic that she doesn’t see the man approaching. He slips in beside her, the only place left at the bar, and puts his elbows right into the broken glass.

“No!” she shouts, but it’s too late. The man yelps and draws back, his rolled-up sleeves having done nothing to protect his forearms. “Oh, no, I’m so sorry.” 

“Agh,” he groans, gingerly pulling a piece of glass out of his arm. It immediately begins bleeding and she reaches over the bar to grab some napkins even as the bartender snaps at her. 

She presses the napkins to his bleeding cut and frowns when no blood pokes through the thin white paper. 

His face scrunches up and he removes her hand slowly. His eyes flit from his now-completely-healed skin to her face and back again. 

“Oh,” she breathes. 

It’s a strange world they live in, one in which you find the person you’re meant to be with and you have a…gift, some kind of nearly supernatural skill. Jemma’s roommate Daisy can cause tiny earthquakes, and her boyfriend controls electricity. Their friend Hunter can change his appearance (or at least, his hair color, eye color, and facial hair) at will, and his ex-wife-turned-wife-again Bobbi is bulletproof. 

She’d long ago given up on finding hers, since her friends had all grouped up so young. Then the glass in front of them is suddenly whole again, and the man sits there blinking at it in shock. 

“I just–all I did was pull out the other piece.” 

“We should…probably get a drink and talk?” Jemma suggests softly. 

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely. I uh–my name is Fitz.” 

“Jemma,” she says. His eyes are a stunning shade of blue and for some reason the sound of his voice calms the twisting in her stomach, so she lets him order another round and follows him to a quiet booth in the corner. 

She’s certainly had worse days. 


	32. Nik, Rosie, and Millie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FitzSimmons twins + TripSkye baby

Millie was born first, about four months before Rosie and Nik. Since the days they’d taken their respective debuts, the little tykes had been the apple of the entirety of SHIELD’s collective eye. 

Especially Coulson, which is why Skye isn’t completely surprised when she walks into her living room and sees her daughter dressed like a character from Monster’s Inc. 

“What exactly is going on here?” she asks fondly. Millie toddles up to her. 

“Mama! Boo!” 

“Yeah, baby,” Skye coos, lifting her into her arms. “You’re Boo! From the Monsters Inc.” 

“Not to ask the obvious,” Fitz says behind her as Trip moves behind his wife to kiss his daughter’s head. “But where did ours go?” 

“Oh, they’re coming,” Phil grins. “Mike! Sully!” 

Little feet smack against the hardwood floors and Rosie and Nik come skidding into the room, giggling madly as they collide with Fitz’s legs. 

“I never win,” Jemma pouts, but as soon as the words leave her mouth Nik is tugging on her shirt to be lifted up. He’s wearing a Mike outfit, looking like a little green alien, and she has to admit it’s incredibly cute. “I second Skye’s question. What exactly is going on here?” 

Coulson takes a deep breath. “Well, it all started at the Disney store.” 

“The Disney store?” Trip asks with raised brows. “I thought you were keeping them inside today.” 

“I was going to,” Coulson defends, “but then they seemed bored. So we went to the mall and I wanted to get them each something special…” 

“A.C!” Skye scolds. “Millie’s closet is already full of toys and clothes, enough for five kids. You’ve gotta stop with the spoiling.” 

Rosie is running around in circles around her father. “Sully! Sully! SULLY!” 

“They were playing Monsters Inc. in the video room,” Coulson cringes. “And then I got to thinking, these little guys are actually a lot like the monsters in the movie.” 

Jemma snorts as Nik wriggles out of her arms and stands in front of his sister with his hands on his hips. “STOP!” 

“Hey!” Fitz exclaims. “Nikky, we don’t yell at our sister.” 

Then Millie is running at Rosie and barreling into her in a messy hug. “Don’t wanna go!” 

Jemma sighs. “I’m sorry, Millie, but we’ve got to go home now.” 

All three toddlers turn and level glares at her and Skye shivers dramatically. “The children of the corn, over here.” 

“RAWR!” Rosie shouts, holding up little hands like claws. Fitz fakes fear and Millie just claps excitedly, giggling and tugging on her little friend’s outfit. 

Nik gives it a shot. “AGGGGGGH!” 

Both girls ignore him. Rosie continues to growl and Millie continues to laugh, and Honorary Grandpa Coulson videotapes the entire thing. 

“Bobbi and Hunter are gonna love this,” Coulson says giddily. “So will May.” 

Jemma and Skye exchange an amused look as Fitz gathers the twins’ belongings from the corner. “Well, we’ve got to take our two monsters home,” Jemma says, scooping up Rosie as she tries to run past her. “Come on, you.” 

“Sully!” 

“Right then, come on, Sully. Fitz, would you grab Mike please?” 

He salutes and tosses his laughing son over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, monkey-print diaper bag over his other arm. “On it.” 

Millie starts to cry at the imminent departure of her friends and Trip scoops her up with a kiss on the cheek. “It’s okay, baby girl,” he soothes. “You’ll see them in a few days.” 

“We’re still on for Saturday?” Skye asks, hugging Jemma and Rosie and then moving to Fitz and Nik. 

“Of course.” 

Skye steps back and looks around, choking back the strange flood of emotion that threatens to overcome her. She’d always dreamed of something like this, during her years of foster care and never having a home. 

Millie will never have to feel that way, not only because she has Skye and Trip as her parents, but she’s got a huge family–a massive, deadly, goofy family that will always have her back. 

“You’re staying for dinner, right?” Skye asks. 

“Only if Trip is cooking,” Coulson shoots back. She rolls her eyes and watches her daughter reach for her former boss and mentor. 

For three terrified kids who had no idea what they were doing during those early BUS days, they’ve sure as hell done well for themselves. 


	33. Baby Geniuses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: FitzSimmons find out their kid is a genius (Rosie and Nik Verse)

“Why don’t you grab your book, sweetheart. It’s about time for bed,” Fitz says as Rosie finishes putting on her pajamas. Lately, his baby girl has been obsessed with all things monkey, much to his joy and Jemma’s chagrin. 

She still has Nik on her side in the Great Animal Debate, though. He’s more of an elephant guy for now, but Fitz is sure he’ll come around. 

They’re getting bigger now, both of them, and it’s hard to believe that four years ago he was fainting in a hospital room as they did an emergency C-section on Jemma. 

“Daddy, I want James and the Giant Peach,” Nik says from the doorway. 

“Mum is doing your story tonight, little man. I did yours last night, remember?” Fitz reminds him. Nik thinks about this and then nods, racing forward to hug his dad. 

“Night, Daddy.”   
  
“Night, Turbo,” Fitz grins, giving his son a little squeeze. “And what do you want to read?” 

Rosie climbs up onto her twin bed and snuggles herself against the pillows. She opens the chapter book in her hands (The Little Prince) and…starts reading to him. 

“Once when I was six years old I saw a magnif–magnifi-seent picture in a book, called True Stories from Nature, about the prim-evil forest. It was a picture of a boa constrictoror in the act of swallowing an animal. Here is a copy of the drawing.” 

She turns the book to show Fitz the little sketch on the book’s pages. He’s staring, stunned, and wondering how on Earth he didn’t see this coming. 

“FITZ!” Jemma calls from down the hall. “Can you come in here please?” 

Rosie rolls her eyes. “It’s okay, Daddy. I can catch you up later.” 

He blinks owlishly and kisses her on the forehead, walking in a daze down the hallway to Nik’s room. 

“Here is James Henry Trotter when he was about four years old,” Nik reads. “Hey look, mum, that’s the same as me!” 

“It is,” she breathes. “Very good, Nikky.” 

“He can read,” Fitz gasps. “She was–Rosie was–she read to me too.” 

Nik makes a choking noise and both of his parents look to him in concern, Jemma’s hands already reaching forward to perform the Heimlich. 

But then their little troublemaker starts laughing. “Rosie! Rosie it worked!” 

Her little feet come running in, giggles trailing her down the hallway. “We’ve been practicing,” she chirps, rocking back and forth on her little feet. 

“We wanted to get it just right,” Nik explains. 

“So did you two actually read?” Fitz asks, looking between his children suspiciously. “Or did you just memorize it?” 

Rosie rolls her eyes again. “Ugh, Daddy!” 

“That’s a habit she got from you,” Fitz tells Jemma, She resists the urge to prove him right by rolling her own eyes, and instead leans into his chest. 

“Of course I can read,” Rosie huffs. “And so can Nikky! Auntie Skye calls us the Wondertwins.” 

Nikky nods excitedly. “She said we have super powers!” 

“Okay, Super Reader,” Jemma says before he can get too over excited. “How about you read me a whole page of this book, hm?” 

“We’re very proud of you both,” Fitz tells them. He picks Rosie up and hoists her onto his hip. “But you’ve both gotta get some sleep. So you’ll need to read me more of The Little Prince before it gets too late.” 

When the kids are finally sleeping, Fitz and Jemma climb into their own bed and turn to face one another, his arm notching just above her hip in a well-practiced gesture. 

“Hey Jemma?” 

“Mm?” 

“There’s two of them. I caused so much destruction with my experiments…” 

Jemma sighs. “So did I. We sprung for fire insurance, didn’t we?” 

“I’ll double check,” Fitz says wearily. “We’re screwed, aren’t we?” 

“Oh, royally, love.” 


	34. Parent Trapped

“What’s yours in for?” he asks with a smirk. Jemma stiffens and crosses her arms over her blazer.

“I have no idea,” she says anxiously. “My daughter never gets in trouble. This is so unlike her..” 

The man snorts. “Mine’s a mess. Always in trouble, that one. it got worse when her mom remarried and moved.” 

Jemma softens and looks over at him. He has kind blue eyes and it’s apparent that he wants her to feel less alone in the hallway out front of the school principal’s office. 

“Maybe that’s the problem,” she frets. “Her dad left about a year ago. Perhaps she’s acting out?” 

“Could be,” he shrugs. “It’s hard for ‘em, they like structure.” 

Jemma smiles a little bit. “Yes well, so do I.” 

The principal, a perpetually friendly man named Phil Coulson, steps out of his office with their two daughters behind him. Jemma immediately stands, but the man beside her takes a few seconds before he sighs, slaps his knees, and rises. 

“Ms. Simmons? Mr. Fitz?” 

“It’s Doctor, actually,” they respond in unison. Jemma’s eyebrows raise, and Fitz does the same as they share a look. They completely miss their daughters smirking behind their principal. 

“Your daughters got into quite a loud argument in the library,” Coulson informs them. “They’ll be benched at recess for the next three days.” 

Jemma’s daughter suddenly looks near tears. 

“Hey, it’s fine,” Fitz’s daughter whispers. “It’s worth it, remember?” 

The other girl sniffs and nods. “I’m sorry, mum.” 

Jemma sighs. “It’s alright, sweetheart. But we’re going to have a long talk about how to solve our problems without yelling, alright?” 

“We were actually thinking,” Fitz’s daughter cuts in, “that maybe if we spent some time together like…a playdate, that we could get to know each other. And stop fighting.” 

And that’s how Jemma finds herself sitting beside Fitz on a park bench, their daughters hanging upside down on the monkey bars playing a series of hand games in perfect sync. 

“They know each other,” Jemma observes suspiciously. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say they plotted this entire thing.” 

Fitz scratches behind his ear and blushes. “You must be her friend’s mom that she’s been dying for me to meet.” 

“And you must be the dad,” Jemma laughs, shaking her head. “I swear to you, I used to find my own dates back in the day.” 

“Oh this is a date, is it?” Fitz grins. 

“A play date,” Jemma corrects. “But maybe sometime we could…have coffee?” 

“No thanks,” he says immediately. She flinches and he smirks at her. “I hate coffee. How’s lunch?” 

She smacks his arm but nods. “Lunch is great.” 


	35. Grocery Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: FS HB SQ - The girls are out buying groceries together and every guy asked them to get something

Bobbi pushes the cart, Daisy grabs the necessary items, and Jemma directs them, armed with her handy list. Shopping for a base full of people is never exactly easy, especially when it often looks like they must belong to some kind of Doomsday cult. 

Jemma meticulously crosses each thing off of their list as Daisy tosses it into the cart. 

“That’s not on the list,” Jemma points out when Daisy throws a couple of navy blue towels into the cart. “We have SHIELD issue towels.” 

Daisy rolls her eyes. “I know, but they’re for King Lincoln. He asked me to grab some because apparently our towels don’t provide enough coverage.” 

Bobbi snorts, leaning against the cart with her elbows. “Exactly how hung is your man, Agent Johnson?” 

“That’s classified,” Daisy winks. That’s when Jemma remembers that Fitz had asked her to get something as well–only it’ll be a bit more difficult than a few towels. 

“Speaking of, Hunter asked me to grab him something from the grocery section,” Bobbi chimes in. “You’ll never believe what he asked me for.” 

“Let me guess, an entire keg of beer?” Jemma guesses, only half-joking. 

“Nope. Kid’s Cuisines,” Bobbi tells her. The expression on her face tells her friends all they need to know about her opinion on her ex-husband-turned-boyfriend’s food choices. 

“Those frozen TV dinners for kids?” Daisy asks excitedly. Jemma raises her eyebrows and Daisy shrugs, unabashed. “Hey man, I was an orphan. We’d see commercials for that shit at the orphanage and just like, drool all over ourselves. We’re gonna need to double up on his order unless we want a repeat of The Captain Crunch Cold War.” 

“You disarmed him by stealing all of the milk,” Jemma huffs. “None of us could eat anything that required milk!” 

“Yeah well, he was hiding the cereal in weird places and even Mack was on his team. Mack was supposed to be on Team U.S.A., not Team Tea Cup.” 

“You do know that the Cold War was fought between the U.S. and Russia, correct?” Jemma asks wearily. “It’s very important to me that you know that.” 

“High school drop out,” Daisy reminds her. “And I’m pretty sure it was us versus you, Red Coat.” 

Jemma gives up, throwing up her hands and grabbing as many toothbrushes as she can, tossing them into the cart. She just needs to get one aisle over and slip it into the cart without anyone noticing…

And that’s when she realizes that she doesn’t even know what kind she’s supposed to get. It’s been ages since she’s been shopping for this kind of thing and she’s usually too distracted to even see what the box looks like. 

Bobbi notices Jemma’s wandering eyes and smirks, bumping into her lightly with the cart. 

“Did Dr. Fitzy ask you for some rubbers?” 

“Why would he need those?” Jemma asks. “We have those in the supply closet.” 

“We do?!” Daisy yelps. “Man, I’ve been spending good money to Amazon Prime those to a PO Box! Last time I went shopping was with Coulson and well, it was too weird to buy them with him there.” 

“It’s just office supplies,” Jemma scoffs. “If you really don’t like the kind that we have, I’m sure he wouldn’t be offended. I have noticed that they sometimes leave smudges…” 

“Oh my God, she means erasers,” Bobbi finally concludes. “We’re all having totally different conversations. Jemma, I meant condoms.” 

“Oh!” Jemma exclaims, cheeks heating up. “Well uh…yes. Those. I am in need of those but what kind do you…um, help?” 

They return from their shopping trip nearly an hour later than they should have. 

“What took you so long?” Coulson asks. “Were you shaking a tail?” 

“Someone’s gonna be getting some tail,” Daisy mumbles under her breath. 

“What was that?” Coulson asks, brow furrowed.   
  
“Nothing!” Jemma jumps in. “Nothing at all, sir. We were just struggling to find the uh…” 

“The Kids Cuisines,” Bobbi finishes. “For Hunter. Silly, stupid Hunter.” 

“I get all the ones that come with brownies for dessert,” Daisy insists. 

“Oi! You do not!” Hunter shouts from down the hall. 

And so the Kids Cuisine Conflict begins (and does not end for nearly two months, until Coulson bans them from the base entirely). 


	36. Accidental Kisses (Season 2)

“So let me get this straight,” Trip says, leaning forward on the countertop. “You accidentally kissed him?” 

“On the lips,” Jemma clarifies. “Yes, I did.” 

“How does that even happen?” he asks, doing a very poor job of hiding his amusement. 

“I was going to kiss his cheek and he went for a hug and then–well, I missed his cheek and landed on his mouth instead!” Jemma explains, voice rising in her panic. Trip crosses the kitchen to put his hands on her shoulders.

“Breathe, Simmons. Damn girl, you’ve got no chill.” 

She narrows her eyes. “I have plenty of “chill”, thank you.” 

“You really don’t,” he chuckles warmly. “Listen, he likes you. I think he’s made that very clear. So if you liked this accidental kiss then maybe that’s a good thing.” 

“Holy shit, Simmons, you kissed Fitz?!” Skye practically shouts from the doorway. 

“Skye!” 

“Sorry,” she grimaces. “On a scale of one to ten, how tacky is it to go down to Vault D and demand Ward pay me the 20 bucks he bet against you?” 

“He bet against me?” Jemma asks, affronted. She’s not sure why, exactly, given that the man is Hydra scum.

“Yep, he thought Fitz would make the first move,” Skye shrugs. “So you kissed him, though?” 

“By accident,” Jemma corrects. 

“You never answered the question,” Trip redirects. “Did you _like_ it?” 

“Yes. I mean, I don’t know,” Jemma blurts out, words coming out in a rapid fire. “It made me feel nice?” 

“Then maybe you should try again,” Skye suggests. “But y’know, on purpose.” 

“It could ruin everything.” 

“You dragged the guy up from the bottom of the ocean,” Trip says, ticking items off on his fingers. “Then he had brain damage, you fought like hell for him even though he was being kind of a dick, you went undercover at Hydra to protect him, and now you’re awkwardly dancing around each other like me and Suzanne Lemon in the fourth grade. I don’t think there’s much you could do to make it weirder than it already is.” 

Skye just holds up her water bottle. “I second Trip on this one, Simmons.” 

“I’m going to go…talk to him.” 

“With your tongue in his mouth!” Skye calls after her. Jemma turns around to retort, but gets pushed forward by someone colliding with her back. 

“Fitz!” 

“Jemma! Uh, hi. I was just…” 

He twists his wrist around, looking for the word, and she waits patiently until he gives her the look. 

“Looking for me?”   
  
“Yeah, that.” 

“I was looking for you too,” she tells him. “About earlier, I just–” 

“Can I just–try something?” he asks. “And then you can–I’ll never do it again if you don’t want me to.” 

Her heart pounds in her chest and his eyes are glued to her mouth so she nods shakily. He steps forward with trembling hands and cups her face before gently pressing his lips to hers. 

“Do that again.” 


	37. Clintasha AU

_“Call in Agent Simmons,” Hill orders. There’s still blood on her forehead but she appears unconcerned. Coulson blinks.  
_

_“She’s on a classified mission.”  
_

_“She’ll want to know that Agent Fitz has been compromised. This could be the beginning of the Avengers initiative, Coulson.”  
_

_His eyes briefly widen but he schools his expression into something more neutral and pulls up Agent Simmons’ current mission file. Taking a nervous breath, he dials her direct line._

_“What is it?” she answers in her clipped British accent. “I’m in the middle of an interrogation, and this idiot is giving me everything.”  
_

_“We need to call you back in,” Coulson winces.  
_

_“I’m afraid I can’t do that right now. I’m…all tied up.”  
_

_He rolls his eyes at her usual terrible use of puns. “It’s Agent Fitz. He’s been compromised.”_

_The line goes silent for a beat, and then she speaks. “I’ll be right there.”_

He sits up on the cot, hands digging into his eyes. “How did you get me back?” 

“Neurological reprogramming,” she answers smartly. He gives her a look and she smiles. “A really hard hit on the head.” 

“Thank you,” he croaks. She reaches out and puts a hand on his leg. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” she tells him. “Any one of us could have been taken over by that monster.” 

“It never would have happened to you,” he argues. “Too smart for that.” 

“I never said I wasn’t smarter than you,” she teases. “That scepter is incredibly powerful, Fitz. And we’ve got to stop him.” 

He sighs heavily and shakes his head. “Do you know what it’s like? To be unmade?” 

“You know I do,” she says solemnly. His eyes lock on hers and he swallows hard. 

She stands, brushing her newly-short locks from her face, and hands him the bow propped up in the corner. 

“What do you say?” 

He takes it from her, slinging it over his shoulder. “Let’s go get this son of a bitch.” 

The corners of her lips quirk upward. In a rare show of affection, she puts her hand on his face. 

“Aliens are descending on New York City,” she sighs. He nods into her touch. “It’ll be fun. Just like Budapest all over again.” 

He looks at her like she’s crazy. “You and I remember Budapest very differently.” 


	38. Meeting Again

He paces nervously in the hospital’s waiting room, straightening as soon as he hears someone say her name. 

“Is anybody here for Skye Johnson?” she calls out, British accent crisp and sharp. 

“Me!” he practically shouts, jogging over. “I am. Is she going to be okay?” 

That’s when he really gets a look at her, and her eyes widen as she stares at him right back. 

“Fitz?” 

“Simmons?” 

“Ms. Johnson will be just fine,” Jemma finally says. “Her surgery went off without a hitch. She’s under observation for the next thirty minutes, and then someone will take you back to see her.” 

“So you really did it, huh?” he asks after a beat of silence. “You’re a surgeon.” 

Jemma smiles shyly and nods. “Yeah, it…ended up working out for me. And how have you been?” 

“Good, good,” he says. “Dropping out of med school was definitely for the best. I went back and got my masters in Engineering, working on my PhD now.” 

“That’s wonderful!” she chirps, same bright smile he’s thought about ever since dropping out five years ago. 

“Paging Dr. Simmons,” a voice calls out over the loudspeaker. “Please report to the Nurse’s Station on Floor 2.” 

She grimaces and gestures vaguely above her head. “Ah, well, duty calls. It was lovely to see you, Fitz.” 

“Will you be coming in to check on Skye?” he asks a bit desperately as she turns to walk away. Even in scrubs, with her hair pulled back tightly and no make-up, she’s gorgeous and he’s finally got his chance to ask her out. He’d been too afraid, when they’d been in school. He’d felt…not enough for her, but he’s found his own calling now. 

He wasn’t cut out to be a doctor, but he makes one hell of an engineer. 

Jemma shakes her head. “Another doctor will be checking on your wife–” 

“My…wife?” he asks dumbly. 

“Well, I just assumed–” 

“Skye is definitely not my wife,” Fitz says, holding up his ringless left hand. “Which is good, because it would make it really uncomfortable when I asked you to get a drink sometime this week.” 

Her beaming smile is back, and she removes a pen from the pocket of her scrubs, scrawling her name and number on a prescription pad and tearing off the top sheet. 

“I would really like that.” 

Skye is loopy as hell when she wakes up, and crows with excitement when she finds out that Fitz asked out “that pretty angel doctor who took out my appendix.” 

Fitz is pretty excited himself.


	39. Unintentional Jealousy

If she didn’t know Fitz so well, she would swear that he’s doing this on purpose. Carlson, the pretty redheaded lab tech in _her_ department, not his, has been spending an awful lot of time in his workspace. 

She laughs at all of his bad jokes–the ones that Jemma would just roll her eyes at–and Fitz looks inordinately pleased every single time that she does. Carlson had brought in an old paper of his and expertly debated him on some of the biggest discoveries he’d made.

Rather than being annoyed with her, he’d just engaged in a lively discussion, gesturing wildly and smiling every time she made a good point. 

So when she hears Carlson’s giggle across the lab and Fitz’s voice just after it, something in her snaps. She whirls around with fire in her eyes and Bobbi’s hand on her shoulder is the only thing keeping her from shoving Carlson into some of the more dangerous chemical samples. 

“Woah there, tiger,” Bobbi warns. “He’s not doing anything wrong.” 

“But she is,” Jemma hisses. “And he is too! He’s…encouraging her. She’s obviously interested in him.” 

“Well, do you have a right to be mad?” Bobbi asks curiously. “I know something happened between you two, but if you haven’t defined the relationship then he’s technically allowed to do whatever he wants.” 

Jemma blinks owlishly. “Define the relationship?” 

Bobbi looks at her in confusion. “You know, that part of the relationship where you sit down and talk about what you both want out of this?” 

“I didn’t think we needed to do that,” Jemma breathes. 

“Have you even told him how you feel?” Bobbi asks doubtfully. Jemma opens her mouth to respond and Bobbi holds a hand up. “Other than when one or both of you is about to die. And not vaguely, either.” 

“I suppose…I guess I haven’t,” Jemma admits quietly. “I just…I thought he knew.” 

“He probably does,” Bobbi concedes. “But sometimes people need to hear these things.” 

“Dr. Fitz, you’re just…wow, you’re brilliant,” Carlson says loudly. Jemma practically growls when the other woman puts her hand on Fitz’s bicep. “Brilliant, brave, funny…is there anything you can’t do?”

Fitz blushes and stares down at her hand, shifting on his feet. His hand goes to the back of his neck. “Well, ah, I wouldn’t say that.” 

“You’re going to make some lucky lady very happy someday,” Carlson says softly, but Jemma can still hear her. Bobbi looks over and narrows her eyes at the lab tech. 

“You know, you should definitely still talk to him at some point,” Bobbi advises, “but I think it might be a good idea to define this relationship right here, right now.” 

Jemma doesn’t respond, just strides over to Fitz and spins him around, causing Carlson’s hand to drop from his arm. Jemma grabs him roughly by the back of the neck and presses herself against him; she doesn’t even try to make it look sweet, nipping on his bottom lip possessively before she releases him. 

“I certainly am very lucky,” Jemma says acerbically in Carlson’s direction. “And he does make me _very_ happy.” 

Fitz gapes at her, jaw completely slack, and Carlson looks anywhere but Jemma. 

“Congratulations, you two. I’ll have those samples to you as soon as possible, Dr. Simmons.” 

“You do that, Carlson.” 

As soon as she’s gone, Fitz bites back a smile. “Wanna tell me what that was about?” 

“You’ve been encouraging her,” Jemma huffs. “It’s like you’re doing it on purpose.” 

He frowns. “What? No. I don’t even know what you mean.” 

“Fitz! She’s obviously interested in you. You’ve been joking around with her and talking science, of course she thought she had a chance. It’s like…like you’re doing it on purpose.” 

Deciding that she’s already thrown professionalism out of the window for the day, he tugs her into a more quiet corner and wraps his arms around her waist. “Jemma, I would never do anything to upset you. Not on purpose.” 

She sighs. “I know. Bobbi says we need to define the relationship.” 

His brow furrows. “We’re together, right? That’s it.” 

She smiles. “That’s what I thought. But…I guess I’m not always very vocal with my feelings. And I just wanted you to know that this is what I want.  I don’t ever want to be without you. Of course Carlson has a crush on you, you’re the perfect man…a brilliant, handsome, pasty hero.” 

“Hey now,” he warns, but he’s beaming at her and it flips her stomach pleasantly. 

“I want you to be mine,” she finally settles on, looking him in the eyes. “And I want to be yours.” 

“I am,” he says, tucking her hair behind her ear and kissing her softly. “And you are.” 

“Good,” she whispers against his lips. “So no more letting lab techs throw themselves at you, okay? I know far too many chemical combinations that can seriously maim someone and I am not afraid to use them.” 

He barks out a laugh and presses a kiss to her forehead, hugging her tightly. “You’re mad.” 

“For you, maybe,” she shrugs. 

“The feeling’s mutual.” 


	40. High School AU (Part 1)

“Hi!” she greets, sliding into the stool next to him. “You’re Leo, right?” 

“Fitz,” he snaps back. “We’ve gone to school together since we were nine, Simmons.” 

Jemma blinks quickly. “I’m–I’m sorry. Mr. Fury said we should be partners for the lab today. Daisy is absent, and since Mack is too…” 

Fitz snorts. “Right, yeah. Don’t expect me to do all of the work for you, alright?” 

Her hazel eyes narrow at the challenge and she crosses her arms over her cheerleading uniform. It’s game day, and she’ll be spending her Friday night waving pom-poms for Antoine Triplett and the SHIELD High basketball team. 

“I’m actually quite good at science,” she says primly. “Perhaps I could help you. And I would, you know, since I’m a nice person.” 

“A nice person?” he scoffs. “You didn’t know my bloody name!” 

“Of course i did!” she protests. “I was just trying to _make conversation_.” 

“You didn’t even know what name I go by. We’ve had at least ten classes together in high school, not to mention middle school and elementary.” 

She half-expects Mr. Fury to break them up, but he’s just watching them with his one good eye, amused. 

“You go by Fitz. Your favorite subject is math, you live on Providence Street with your mum, you’re originally from Glasgow, you drive a 2001 Honda Civic, you love monkeys, you never go to sports games, you think cheerleading is a reflection of my intelligence, and you think I’m always judging you when in truth, you’re always judging _me!_ ” 

She finishes telling him off with a shaking breath and his heart stops when he realizes that Head Cheerleader Jemma Simmons, the girl he’s had it bad for since the first time he watched her play kickball,  is near tears because of him.

“And I bet you don’t know a single thing about me,” she huffs out. Then she slams open her binder and pulls out their lab worksheet. “Fill that graduated cylinder to 150 milliliters, _Leo_.”  

With his heart in his throat, he does as she says. She hardly speaks to him for the rest of the class, and when it’s over, she dashes for the door with her ponytail bouncing. 

He tries his best to forget about the entire encounter, even though half of the school knows about it by last period. He drives home from school and tries to distract himself with video games, which would be more successful if Mack was there to provide a running commentary like he usually does on Fridays. 

So that’s how he finds himself standing in front of the SHIELD High Gymnasium, hands shoved into his pockets. He’s going to a basketball game. Alone. 

He sits in the back corner of the bleachers and hardly pays any attention to the game, his eyes glued on Jemma as she and her friend Bobbi shout and clap and hop up and down. She’s got the brightest smile he’s ever seen but it doesn’t look as genuine as she looks when she’s leaned over a beaker in the lab. 

SHIELD wins the game, and he waits outside of the locker room feeling like a real creep but knowing he won’t sleep unless he talks to her. He takes a deep breath when he hears her chatting excitedly to Bobbi about a college tour she’s just come back from. 

“Harvard was amazing,” Jemma rants. “And Boston, Bobbi! Oh, I just loved Boston. Cambridge isn’t too far away, so it wouldn’t be terribly difficult to visit the city on weekends, and if you’re at NYU I could still come visit–” 

Fitz clears his throat, stopping her in her tracks. Bobbi raises her eyebrows. “I’ll see you later, Jemma.” 

When she passes by she glares at him and he knows that Bobbi Morse will absolutely kill him if he makes Jemma cry again. But he’s really hoping that’s not how this conversation will end. 

“Hey Jemma,” he says awkwardly. 

“Fitz, hi,” she greets coolly. 

“You only started cheerleading because you needed more extracurriculars for your Harvard application,” he blurts out. “But then you kind of liked it, so you kept at it and now you’re one of the best. Your favorite color is light blue, you drive a 2003 Jetta, and you live on Carter Avenue. You’re the only person I know who dissected that cat in Physiology class without batting an eyelash. You’re really smart, smarter than I ever gave you credit for, and I’m sorry.” 

A slow smile is spreading across her face despite her best efforts to suppress it. “So you do know me.” 

“Yeah well, I’ve known you for eight years,” he shrugs, scratching behind his ear. 

“I’ve always thought we would get on,” Jemma says suddenly. He looks up in shock and she shifts nervously in her sneakers. She’s taken her hair out of her bouncy ponytail and she’s zipped a jacket up over her tight cheer top, but she’s still wearing that blasted little skirt. “What do you say we go grab some late night chili fries at Melinda’s?” 

“You like Melinda’s?” 

“Of course I do,” Jemma says, grabbing his arm to pull him forward. “And I know you do too.” 

“Have you been stalking me?” 

“I could ask you the same question.” 

When Mack comes back to school on Monday, he’s shocked to see Jemma Simmons and Leo Fitz walking into the building together, clutching paper cups from the coffee shop across the street, finishing each other’s sentences. 

The school gossip mill goes crazy for nearly a month until they finally settle everyone’s bets by showing up to Junior Prom and make out on the dance floor. 


	41. High School AU (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was originally posted as the same chapter as the one before--here's the right one, a sequel to the high school AU from last chapter. Shout out to wibbelkind for letting me know :)

The only person who’s ever really been to his house is Mack, and Fitz has never panicked about the appearance of his basement so much when his best friend comes over. 

But this is Jemma Simmons. Head cheerleader and object of his affections for the better part of eight years. For the last three weeks, they’ve met up before school for tea and homework, exchanging text messages throughout their day…but this is his moment. It’s a Saturday night, his mom is at work, and Jemma Simmons is coming over to watch a movie. 

Once he’d told her that he’d never seen Weird Science, she had insisted on watching it with him. Before he can agonize over the placement of his couch cushions any longer, the door bell rings. He gulps and smooths his hand over his hair, swinging open the door. 

“Hi!” she chirps in that nearly unbearably sunny way of hers. “I brought snacks.” 

“Of course you did,” he smiles. “Always so prepared, Simmons.” 

She rolls her eyes but smiles back, flopping onto his couch like she comes over every weekend. “And I’m sure you’re quite grateful for it, given that I remembered to buy you these.” 

She tosses him a bag of Sour Patch Kids out of her purse and he fights down the flutter of butterflies in his stomach. Not only did she buy him candy, she remembered his favorite kind–something he’d really only mentioned once. She must notice the expression on his face because her smiles softens and she pats the couch affectionately. 

“Come sit! Let’s start the film.” 

She’s incredibly distracting, he thinks. He’s suddenly incredibly grateful that he doesn’t sit by her in any of their shared classes; he would positively fail everything. She smells like peaches and every time she laughs at something in the movie, she somehow gets closer and closer to him, until she’s pressed so close up against his side that he has to put his arm on the back of the couch to give her more space. 

She quite graciously pretends like he didn’t nearly elbow her in the face in the process. 

He realizes about halfway through that he couldn’t explain the plot of this film to someone even if there was a gun to his head. He’s caught absolutely none of the story, but he has managed to find three different constellations formed from freckles on Jemma’s cheek. 

She turns to look up at him and he startles back, painfully aware of how creeped out she must be. She bites her lip and he just feels it coming. 

 _I’m sorry, Fitz, but you’re leering at me like a pervert and I really just wanted to be your friend. You’re like my brother and my uncle and my grandfather and my dog combined into one positively sexless creature._  

He misses what her lips actually say, and he blinks at her sluggishly as he tries to fight through his panicked, mortified haze. 

“Sorry?” 

“Can I kiss you?” she tries again. She looks terrified, and he has the fleeting, irrational thought that Jemma Simmons, recently voted Most Popular of the Junior Class, is afraid that he won’t want to kiss her. 

He doesn’t even make an attempt to answer, clumsily leaning forward to beat her to the punch. His only experience with this comes from that time he had to kiss Daisy Johnson in the 8th grade on a dare, but as soon as his mouth touches hers she responds eagerly. Her lips are soft and she tastes like sour sugar. His hands come up to frame her face and when he pulls away a few moments later, her eyes stay shut. 

“Wow,” she murmurs. 

“That is what you asked, right?” he croaks. “Cause if you didn’t, I’ll feel like a real prick.” 

She giggles and opens her eyes, glittering up at him the way he’d always hoped they would. 

“I was afraid you’d say no.” 

He looks at her like she’s revealed herself to be some kind of alien. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Jemma.” 

She smiles, like she always does when he uses her first name, and nervously pecks his lips once more. 

“I think it was my turn,” she breathes. He nods and leans in closer, letting her close the gap between them once again. 

Hours later, she heads home and he climbs into bed, staring at the ceiling. 

 _Holy shit,_ he thinks. _Jemma Simmons kissed me. She kissed me thirty-two times. In one night._


	42. Slow Dancing

“May I have this dance?”

Jemma looked up to see Fitz smiling sheepishly at her, hand extended. Her heart did a small flip at the sight of him in a bow-tie and tux. She sat her book down and considered the offer for a tantalizing moment. “I suppose,” she decided after a moment, trying to make her voice sound casual but she smiled broadly at him.

He helped her up and they moved onto the dance floor; she wrapped her arms around his neck and he gently placed a hand on her waist. The touch reminded her of another time they’d been this close, back in the lab, mid-argument-

A blush crept up to her cheeks as they began to sway to the music and she prayed that Fitz wouldn’t notice. She glanced around the room; technically they were undercover, on a mission. But it was mostly an intelligence op, and Bobbi and Hunter had the hardest part, which was chatting up a bunch of tipsy officials.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” she found herself saying, eyeing the heavily dressed people swirling around them. “Everything seems so….”

“Normal?” Fitz suggested. She made a “huh hmm” noise and returned her gaze to him. 

“Is it just me?”

“No,” Fitz said with a sigh, averting his gaze from her. “It’s definitely weird. Everyone’s chatting about normal things, meanwhile-”

“We normally chat about aliens and superheroes.” Jemma finished without hesitation. They both locked eyes for a moment, smiling gently at their “psychic link” as Daisy would put it.

“Yeah,” Fitz agreed. “That we do. Still, I wouldn’t complain to a normal day every once and awhile.”

“I’m not sure we know how to do normal anymore,” Jemma chuckled. “What with constantly running diagnostics on psychotic alien beings and…” her smile faded, memories surfacing unbidden in her mind. “Other things,” she finished softly.

Fitz’s expression darkened for a moment and he looked away from her. A second later he turned his head back to her and there was a smile on her face. “My mum use to have this thing she’d do when I was ever cross or feeling down. She’d tell me to imagine the place I wanted to be the most, and then keep thinking about it. Occasionally, I would describe it to her.”

“Where was it usually?”

“Jungle, mostly. Typically around a group of monkeys.”

Jemma laughed again, forgetting about everything else for a moment, imagining only a young Leopold Fitz imagining being somewhere with monkeys whenever he was cross. The imagery was almost more adorable than the story itself. 

They stayed quiet for a long time after that, only swaying to the music, waiting for the signal to leave. Finally, Jemma asked, “Do you still do that? Imagine wherever you’d rather be?”

“Yeah,” Fitz answered after a moment. “I do. A lot here lately, though.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Jemma admitted. “Maybe I should start trying it.”

“You’d probably imagine the TARDIS,” Fitz joked. “Or Hogwarts.”

Jemma scoffed, “Both are highly illogical places to rather be, Fitz. The Doctor can barely pilot the TARDIS as it is. Now, if River was flying it might be a different story.”

“And Hogwarts?”

“I’d rather not have an incursion with a three headed dog,” Jemma retorted so seriously that Fitz almost burst out laughing. The only thing that stopped him was the serious expression on Jemma’s face. “The place I’d rather be is here.”

“Here? In the ballroom-?”

“No,” Jemma rolled her eyes. “Here, with-with the team.” She hesitated a moment before pushing forward. “With you.”

His startling blue eyes widened, his mouth parted slightly in shock. After a moment, he found his voice. “Yeah, me too.”

“Yeah,” Jemma repeated, finding herself leaning forward, ever so slightly, being drawn in by those bloody blue eyes. He leaned forward as well, pulled toward her by some invisible force, their lips inches apart-

Suddenly the comms crackled to life and the sudden voice in their ears made them both jump apart. “ _Guys, mission’s complete. The wonder twins did their job right, so you can head back to the Quinjet_ ,” Daisy informed them. 

Fitz met Jemma’s gaze for a moment; she tried to ignore the fact that he was breathing a little heavily or the fact that his cheeks were practically maroon. “We’ll be there,” he promised Daisy. 

“ _Copy that_ ,” Daisy replied cheerfully. 

Jemma watched Fitz for a few moments then reached forward and grasped his hand with her own, entwining their fingers. He looked up at her and gave a warm smile and together they stepped outside, back home. Going the only way they could: forward. 


	43. Serendipity

She isn’t even looking for him when she enters the lab in the late hours of the night. They’d watched a film and then gone to their respective bunks, the excited hum of their developing relationship buzzing between them when he’d pressed his lips to her cheek. 

She expects him to be sleeping, but she hadn’t been able to. The guilt over Will has slowly faded from her bones after many long talks with Daisy and Bobbi, and even one with Fitz. The new resident therapist had even helped her understand her complicated feelings for the other man, explaining to her the ways that people bond in life-and-death survival situations. Knowing that her feelings for Fitz didn’t have to be diminished by the ones she had for Will has lifted an anvil off of her chest. 

Now, she is simply impatient and trying her best not to push. This impatience had kept her awake, thoughts of him and what they could finally have swirling around her brain. She’s secure in how he feels about her–after all, how could there be any remaining confusion when he’d travelled to the edge of the universe to find her–and she’s beginning to sense that he’s finally, finally secure in her feelings for him. 

She finds him in his little corner of the lab, soldering some piece of metal with his protective headgear in place. It looks silly, given that he’s wearing his monkey pajama pants, and it warms her heart. He’s so focused that he hardly hears her. 

“Hello Fitz,” she greets. He jumps and nearly burns himself. 

“Y’know not to startle me when I’m using this thing,” he chides, but his heart’s not in it. 

“Sorry,” she smiles. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

“What are you doing up and about?” 

“I was going to ask you the same question,” Jemma teases. “Although perhaps serendipity brought us both here, hm?” 

“Serendipity?” he snorts. “You can’t really believe in that.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, Mr. We’re-Cursed-By-The-Cosmos.” 

This earns her a lazy smile and she peeks over his shoulder. 

“What are you making?” 

“Uh, nothing,” he answers too quickly. “Just a uh, a thing for…for Daisy! Yes, right, Daisy’s gauntlets.” 

Her eyes narrow. “That looks like a necklace.” 

He sighs and steps aside so she can see it. A perfect replica of her favorite necklace, the one she’d lost so long ago–each and every detail perfected by his hands. Happy tears flood her vision and she throws her arms around him, knocking his headgear entirely to the ground. 

“Oh, Fitz,” she sighs. “How did you get all the details right?” 

“Zoomed in really close on a picture from the Academy,” he shrugs bashfully. “I just thought you might be missing it. I thought you might finally be ready for…a new one.” 

Jemma pulls back to smile at him. “I am. I’m ready for a lot of new things.” 

He takes the bait and bends down to kiss her, incredibly softly. “I wasn’t planning on giving it to you for a while,” he breathes when he pulls back. His face is calm and relaxed, so unlike the last time he’d pulled back from her lips. 

“Then it really is serendipity that I found you,” she says. “I wasn’t so sure there was such a thing as happy surprises anymore.” 

“And now?” 

“I’ve just gotten the happiest one of all, haven’t I?” she teases. He grins back down at her, and they forget all about the necklace until they see it on his lab table in the morning. He makes a big show of putting it on for her and she lets him (even if it does incur Bobbi’s teasing for an entire afternoon). 


	44. Star Gazing (Academy AU)

He can’t believe he’s out here at 3 in the bloody morning, putting together a telescope. 

“It’s visible to the naked eye of course,” Jemma tells him enthusiastically. “But you can’t truly see the Orion Nebula in all of its glory unless you’ve got a good telescope.” 

“Yeah well I built this one,” he shoots back. “So I know it’s good enough to see your little star show.” 

She laughs and opens the thermos in her hands. “If you’re nice to me, you can have tea.” 

“What, no biscuits?” 

“Of course there are biscuits,” she says. “But you have to be extra nice to me for those.” 

“Oh Jemma, the smartest and most beautiful girl in the world,” he jokes. “Is this telescope high enough for your sparkling eyes, or shall I raise it higher?” 

She rolls her eyes and grins, peeking into the viewer. “Oh Fitz, it’s perfect!” 

It’s not often that her sighs of “Oh Fitz” are a good thing; more often than not, she’s exasperated or annoyed with him, dashing around the lab and putting out his fires. 

They’ve been partners for a year now, and have built so many amazing things. He’d never seen her as the star-gazing type, and astrophysics were really more his thing anyway, but then she’d told him all about her scoliosis surgery. He’d heard that this night would be particularly good for seeing the Orion Nebula. 

When he’s suggested driving out to an abandoned field, away from the light pollution of the Academy, her entire face had lit up in the way it did when she could convince him to do just about anything. 

He takes the thermos of tea out of her hands, as she’s now completely enthralled with staring up at the nebula. He’s perfectly content to watch her look at it, nibbling on the biscuits from her backpack as he sits on the damp grass at her feet. 

“Fitz, you’ve got look at this!” 

He lets her haul him up and he looks at it too, the colors striking him powerfully and suddenly. “Wow,” he breathes. “That’s really something else.” 

“Do you ever think there’s more out there?” she asks. “I mean, other intelligent life, you know? There’s so much we don’t understand.” 

“Did you really just admit there’s something you don’t understand?” he laughs. “I’m going to need a recording of that.” 

She shoves him lightly. “I’m serious, Fitz!” 

He shrugs. “I dunno, it would make sense, I suppose. It’ll be ages before we’ve advanced enough to travel to a whole other solar system. We can’t even get all the way through our own.” 

Two weeks later, Thor is found in New Mexico, and the entire Academy scrambles to figure out everything they can about extraterrestrial beings. 

“I may have been wrong about that whole “it’ll be ages” thing,” Fitz admits, scratching behind his ear. She laughs and then grabs his hand, dragging him into the lecture hall where Jane Foster is presenting.   
  
“Come on, then! We’ve got new fields of science to take over.” 


	45. Ethereal

His attention is supposed to be on the bride. He knows that, he really does, but he can’t take his eyes off of Jemma Simmons. Bobbi certainly looks beautiful; the woman is practically a supermodel, so of course she does. 

But she’s put Jemma in a floaty golden dress, straps that slip purposefully off of her shoulders, and they’re in a forest that looks straight out of a fairytale. A crown of flowers rests on her curls and if he didn’t know better, he’d swear Bobbi’s maid of honor was some kind of fairy. She’s positively otherworldly. 

She’s small and delicate and the sun glints off of her hazel eyes in just the right way. He stands beside Hunter and is so distracted by Jemma that he misses his cue to produce the rings. 

“Mate?” Hunter hisses. “You didn’t lose them, did you?” 

Jemma giggles into the bouquet of peonies in her hands and he nearly loses it right there. He fumbles with the pocket of his grey trousers and manages to hand Hunter the rings. His best friend just rolls his eyes at his incompetence, and the obvious reason for it. 

Fitz only met Jemma the one time, at the rehearsal dinner. It’s a small ceremony, just their closest friends and their respective small families sitting on a variety of chairs and tree-stumps. Jemma had mumbled something along the lines of “Bobbi went pinterest crazy” under her breath when they walked down the pine-needle aisle, but he’d been too distracted by the scent of her perfume to understand her. 

He somehow survives the ceremony and, by the grace of God, doesn’t trip over himself when he has to take her arm once again to follow Bobbi and Hunter back down the little aisle. 

“You were staring at me,” she tells him quietly. His stomach sinks and he opens his mouth to come up with any explanation that he could think of. “It made me staring at you must less awkward.” 

“What?” he splutters. 

“So what do you say to a dance?” she asks. “Once we get to whatever rustic barn we’re supposed to be at.” 

He chuckles and nods, not even caring about how ridiculously eager he must look. 

“Yeah. That would be…that’d be great.” 

She beams at him and he’s once again blinded by her. Then she’s being dragged off by Bobbi’s other bridesmaid Daisy to take a photo with the bridal party. He watches her go and doesn’t stop looking until Hunter claps him on the shoulder.

“You’ve got it bad for Simmons, eh?” 

“Oh yeah,” he breathes. 

Hunter laughs. “Always thought you two would get on. Don’t forget, you’ve got a room at the Inn under your name.” 

He winks and Fitz colors. The next morning, he wakes up beside Jemma Simmons in Room 14. She’s no less ethereal, makeup-free and wrapped in bedsheets.


	46. Midnight Movie Line-Up

“I told you we should have gotten here earlier,” Jemma tells Skye primly. Her friend is wearing an incredibly clunky Iron Man costume, and the sweat is building on her forehead in the hot movie theater lobby. “The line is already so long.” 

“I didn’t expect nerds to take off of work to get here earlier! We came straight from the office,” Skye huffs. 

“I don’t know that you’re in a position to call anyone a nerd,” Jemma points out. “You’re wearing an Iron Man suit that you made. And it doesn’t even function.” 

“The hand functions!” Skye exclaims. 

“It does?” an accented voice asks behind them. Jemma turns and sees a guy around their age, dressed in an Iron Man t-shirt. “Let me see!” 

“Well, it’s kind of just a can opener,” Skye winces. 

“Is that where our can opener went?!” Jemma exclaims. “Skye, I nearly sliced myself open trying to open a can of beans this morning.” 

“Consider it a favor. Eating beans on toast is disgusting.” 

“Oi!” the random Scot pipes in. “Beans on toast is a proper breakfast.” 

“Thank you!” Jemma exclaims, throwing her hands up. “Finally, someone with sense.” 

“Not enough sense, apparently,” he says, nodding at the giant line in front of them. “My friends all said to meet her at 5:00, and then conveniently texted me excuses for why they can’t make it until 11:00.” 

Skye shifts, suit clanking loudly. “Hey, uh, Jemma?” 

“Don’t you dare get any ideas–” 

“I’m so hot!” Skye whines. “This is so uncomfortable. I’ll just run home and change and come right back. I promise.” 

“If I say no, you’re just going to keep whining, won’t you?” Jemma sighs. Skye nods, head gear clunking around, and Jemma waves toward the door. “Alright, go.” 

“Make sure no creepy fan boys grope my best friend,” Skye says to the Iron Man Scottish Guy. 

He salutes her. “Yes ma’am.” 

Silence falls over them as Skye waddles off. He lets it hang there for a moment. 

“So, do fan boys often grope you? Is this something I need constant vigilance for, or what?” 

She laughs and shakes her head. “We went to Comic Con last year and some gross guy smacked my ass.” 

He rolls his eyes with a disgusted scoff. “Men are pigs.” 

“Mhm,” she hums in agreement. 

“Well don’t worry. I will most definitely protect your ass.” 

Her eyes widen and she watches as his mind catches up with his mouth. 

“Oh, oh God…” 

She laughs. “No, please, do tell. How exactly are you going to protect my ass?” 

“You’re a right pain, aren’t you?” 

“So I’m told,” she smiles. “Jemma, by the way.” 

“Fitz.” 

By the time Skye returns, they’re sitting on the floor thumb wrestling and giggling. They don’t notice her, so she ducks into the arcade room of the movie theater and doesn’t come out for another hour and a half. Jemma doesn’t even comment on how long it took for Skye to come back. 


	47. Netflix and Chill

Daisy has been sighing dramatically and slamming things around the kitchen for nearly five straight minutes, and Jemma finally gives in. 

“What’s wrong?” Jemma asks. “Is Coulson being strict on your team again?” 

“No, not really,” Daisy sighs. “All of this Lash hunting has just been keeping us so busy. I was really hoping that Lincoln and I would get a chance for…y’know, Netflix and chill.” 

“You haven’t had time for that?” Jemma asks, confused. “Fitz and I do that nearly every night.” 

Daisy coughs up the cookie she’d just taken a bite of. “You do?!” 

“Oh, absolutely!” Jemma chirps. “We _netflix and chill_ as you say, in our bunks, in the common room once everyone is sleeping…” 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“Don’t tell anyone,” Jemma whispers conspiratorially, “but sometimes, if it’s a slow day and nobody is paying attention, we even _netflix and chill_ in the lab.” 

“Oh my God, Simmons!” Daisy gasps. “You two are animals. Although I guess I should have seen that coming.” 

“What do you mean?” Jemma asks, brow furrowed. “We really do. Look, I’ll text him right now and ask.” 

_[Jemma]: Hi Fitz! “Netflix and chill” in my bunk in 30?_

“I mean, hey, I’m all for slacking off, but sex on the job?” 

Jemma’s eyes bug out and she gasps. “Oh my God! Is that what netflix and chill means?!” 

From down the hall, the girls can hear Fitz yelp. 

“What do you mean, that’s what it means?!” he practically shouts. Jemma shares a dismayed look with Daisy and the other girl just shrugs with a loud laugh. 

“Hey, a little netflix and chill wouldn’t kill ya,” Daisy grins.   
  
“We haven’t done… _that,_ yet!” 

“Get yours, Simmons,” Daisy giggles, smacking her on the ass as she lives. “I know I’m gonna.” 

“Netflix and chill,” Jemma mumbles under her breath. “What a ridiculous concept.” 

But then she thinks of how nice he looks without a shirt on. 

“Unless…” 


	48. Clueless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: FitzSimmons + Step Siblings

Ward pulls into the gas station and turns off the car. “Skye? Why would I date Skye?” 

Jemma pulls a face. “What are you talking about? You’ve got a picture of her hanging in your locker!” 

“A picture that you took!” he argues. “Jemma, do you know who my father is? You and me, we come from the same world. Skye is just some random that you _adopted_. It was a nice gesture, but she’s not one of us. You and me…we’re supposed to be together.” 

He lunges forward to press his lips to hers and she shoves him backward. “Ugh! As if!” 

“Come on, baby,” Ward whines. “You kissed me at that party.” 

“It was a game, and it was an accident!” Jemma shouts, shoving him back once more. By the third time he goes in for the kiss, she slaps him squarely across the face and swings open the door of his sportscar. They’re in the middle of a bad neighborhood but she doesn’t care, even if her father is going to kill her when he finds out where she is. 

She half-expects Ward to sincerely apologize, and then she would get back in the car and pout all the way home. But instead he peels off and she’s left standing in the empty parking lot with no other option than to call a cab. 

Pulling out her clunky cell phone, she dials information and requests a cab company, when there’s suddenly a click. 

“Give me your purse,” the man growls, gun right in her face. She gasps and shoves it at him. “And your phone. And get on the ground.”   
  
She does as he says, whimpering as she does so, and as soon as he’s run off out of sight, she finds a payphone. Fitz is her only option if she wants to get home safely and not get chewed out by her dad. 

“Hello?” he answers. She hears a breathy female voice in the background and rolls her eyes. 

“Fitz? I need your help. I was at a party and my DD attacked me, and then I got held up by a guy with a gun and he took my purse and my phone and I’m _scared_.” 

“Woah, woah, hold on,” Fitz says. “Where the hell are you? I’ll be right there.” 

Their parents were only married for about six months, five years ago, but they’d never gotten along. He thought she was shallow; she found him to be incredibly pretentious, which hasn’t changed since she decided to go to fashion school and he enrolled in UCLA. Jemma hadn’t even been sure why Fitz even had to be a part of her and her dad’s life at all, given the fleeting nature of his marriage to Fitz’s mom. 

“You divorce wives,” he always barked. “Not children.” 

Ever since Fitz had taken up the noble cause of the law, the same way her father had, he’d been around a lot more often. She’s incredibly relieved to see him, all annoyances aside, and dashes to his car on her red silk heels. 

“Are you okay?” he asks as soon as she slides into the front seat. She nods, still not quite sure she’s ready to speak. He whistles and turns on the radio. 

“Ugh, what is this?” she groans. “Are you seriously listening to Nirvana? Kurt Cobain is dead, let grunge die with him.” 

“That’s not funny,” Fitz says, but he’s got an easy smile on his face. “What the hell were you doing out here anyway?” 

“I was trying to help this girl from school. Her name is Skye, and I pushed her into liking Ward instead of Antoine Triplett, and he turned out to be a real jerk.” 

“Grant Ward? From high school?” Fitz snorts. “That guy’s always been a tool.” 

“Well I know that now,” Jemma sighs, leaning her head against the window.

“Can’t say I’m not surprised that you were trying to help someone else,” he says. She rolls her eyes.

“Believe it or not, I do care about people other than myself,” she huffs. “I’m even organizing a relief effort at school.” 

“Good for you,” he admits. “It’s nice to see you growing up.” 

She rolls her eyes. “You’re only a year older than me, you know.” 

They fall into silence for a while, and then he speaks.  

“Do you wanna crash at my place?” he suggests, sensing her mood darkening the closer they get to her father’s house. “Just tell your dad you crashed with a friend. That way he won’t chew you out.” 

“Yeah, that’d be good. Thank you.”   
  
“No problem.” 

And if she happens to look fabulous in his Amnesty International shirt when it’s time to go to sleep, well…that’s just his problem. 


	49. Teacher's Assistant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: FitzSimmons + teacher/student

“Pst, Ms. Jemma!” Tia whispers loudly. “Come here!” 

Mr. Fitz is in the middle of explaining how photosynthesis works, but it’s Jemma’s job to walk around and help students that are falling through the cracks. She’s a senior in University, almost done with her Bachelor’s degree in Biology, and she’s here as a volunteer for two periods per day, both in Mr. Fitz’s 6th grade science class. 

Mr. Fitz is only a few years older than her, which doesn’t always make teaching middle school very easy. He’s young and attractive and the girls giggle whenever he talks (and Jemma does her best to pretend like she doesn’t have just as big of a crush on him as the rest of them). The boys think they can talk to him like a peer. 

And all of the children think that there’s something going on between them. 

“Mr. Fitz was totally checking you out,” Tia says. Jemma rolls her eyes. 

“He was not, Tia. Pay attention.” 

“I’m just saying,” Tia persists. “You guys would be really cute together.” 

“We totally ship it,” her best friend Carla says excitedly. “We call you FitzSimmons.” 

Jemma resists the urge to roll her eyes again. Fitz glances over at them as he continues talking, gesturing at his powerpoint. 

“We have a tag for it on our Tumblrs,” Tia continues. Jemma’s eyes bug out. 

“Excuse me? You what?” 

“So does 2nd period,” Carla informs her. Unable to come up with any kind of appropriate response, Jemma just turns and walks toward the counter where she usually props herself, ready to help answer questions and walk around during activities. 

Soon the bell rings and the students rush out into the hall. Fitz grins at her, shaking his head tiredly. “It’s hard to believe I’ve got to do this six more times. What were Tia and Carla struggling with?” 

Jemma is a horrible liar, so it’s no surprise that he sees right through her when she says, “oh, it was a problem with…with the order of the solar system.” 

His brow furrows. “We were learning about plants today.” 

“Well, I suppose they were just–very curious.” 

She’s saved by 2nd period rushing in. 

***

The next morning, he grandly presents her with a chai tea latte from Starbucks, clutching a matching one in his own hand. A bunch of students hang out in his classroom before the first bell–and he really enjoys being the “cool teacher”, so Tia and Carla are already doodling at their table. 

She accepts the cup with a smile and thanks him, trying to keep her face neutral as their hands brush. She hears the click of a camera and turns to glare at Carla, who points a phone in her direction. 

“Just Instagram,” she says after a minute of rapid tapping on the screen. “You know the hashtag.” 

Fitz tilts his head to the side. “What hashtag?” 

“Nothing!” Jemma squeaks. “Nothing at all.” 

She’d checked the tag on tumblr–students gossiping about each and every interaction between herself and Fitz. There had even been a few cringe-worthy fan fictions, and several photos she didn’t realize had been taken. 

“Are you even supposed to be on your phone?” Jemma asks, panicked. “I should take that.” 

“The first bell hasn’t rung yet, she’s allowed,” Fitz explains. “But really, what tag?” 

Tia and Carla exchange a smirk. “FitzSimmons,” they answer in tandem. 

Fitz frowns and pulls out his own phone. A flush immediately spreads across his cheeks and neck. “This is…uh, wow, this is…really something.” 

“They ship us,” Jemma says instantly. “All of the kids apparently, and…” 

“We need to run to our lockers,” Tia says suddenly. “Right Carla?” 

“Yes!” Carla says. “Hey, Jake! Tanner! Come with us.” 

“What?” 

“I have something to tell you,” Tia says. “I heard that someone likes you.” 

That does the trick, and Jake and Tanner scramble after Tia and Carla, leaving Fitz and Jemma alone. He scrolls through the Instagram feed, photos of him and Jemma talking to each other with captions like “Spotted: FitzSimmons getting their flirt on in the turnaround #FitzSimmons #sciencenerds”. 

“This is so embarrassing,” Jemma finally says. “I’m really sorry, I don’t really know what we’re supposed to do about this. I know we’re just professional colleagues, but–” 

“But what if we aren’t?” Fitz blurts out. 

“Oh,” she breathes. 

“I mean, not–it’s just–I know you’re in college, and I’m probably technically your boss? Not really. You work for Phil, technically, but–you know what, never mind. There’s nothing to discuss.” 

“Maybe there is,” she practically whispers. Her latte is definitely going cold in her hand but she shoves it aside to step into his space. He gulps and leans down, pressing a tentative, cinnamon kiss to her lips. 

“How about a drink tonight?” he asks. Then he screws up his face in a comical display of thought. “You are twenty-one, aren’t you?” 

“Oh, hush.” 

She leans in to kiss him again, but then the first bell rings. 

“Tia! Let me in!” one of the other kids shouts. “I don’t want to be late.” 

“I’m guarding the door. They’re on a date,” Tia replies haughtily. 

“We are not,” Fitz says as he swings open the classroom door. “So little faith in me, Tia. I’d never take a pretty woman on a date to Providence Middle School.” 

“So you think she’s pretty?” Carla jumps in eagerly. 

Fitz throws Jemma a subtle smirk. “Yeah, she’s alright. But nothing is going on between us, alright? And it’s inappropriate for you two to be doing all of this. So if I catch you at it again, you’re going to have to visit Miss May.” 

They both freeze in fear and nod, abashed. 

Personally, Jemma wants to give them both a huge hug and maybe offer to pay for their college. Instead, she just nods solemnly beside him. 


	50. Woo--Well, Goo

“Oh god, this is a mess,” Jemma groans, hands flying to her cheeks. “Oh no. Oh no.” 

Bobbi rounds the corner and stops. “Simmons. What is all of this?” 

“I thought everyone would be off the base,” Jemma squeaks in a panic. 

“So you…covered everything in slime?” 

“It wasn’t meant to be slime!” Jemma practically shouts. “It was a chemical compound that was supposed to turn into a path of stars, and–” 

“You made instant stars?” 

“Obviously not!” Jemma huffs. “I made gooey slime and now it’s everywhere and now everyone is going to know that I was trying to seduce Fitz in the lab!” 

Bobbi chokes on a laugh. “Y’know, I don’t think anyone would have suspected the slime as a seduction technique, but given that you just shouted it out to everyone…then maybe some of us will be suspicious.” 

“Will you help me clean it?” Jemma asks desperately. Bobbi’s nose crinkles in disgust as she looks at the light blue goop all over the floor. 

She’s so concerned with cleaning it up that she misses Fitz coming around the corner, right on time as per her message. He slips and wildly falls, right into the slime.

“Fitz! Oh no, I’m so sorry.” 

“What the hell?” he groans. “What is this?” 

“Seduction,” Bobbi laughs. “Have fun, you two!” 

“This is…huh?” 

“I was trying to woo you,” Jemma admits quietly. “It was supposed to be quite lovely, but I didn’t do enough trials, so…” 

He laughs and kisses her. “Consider me wooed, Jemma.” 


	51. Corporate AU

“I’m here…to see…Jemma…Simmons,” he pants out, bent at the waist with his hands on his hips. Jemma’s receptionist, a sarcastic and not entirely professional young undergrad named Daisy Johnson looks him up and down. 

“And your name is?” 

“Leo…Fitz,” he barely gets out between his shuddering breaths. 

She immediately frowns at him. “You were her lunch date. It’s now 3 p.m. In case you were wondering, 3 p.m. comes after 12:30, when you were supposed to meet her at The Playground.” 

“I know,” he groans. He wipes the sweat off of his brow, and if Daisy wasn’t so attached to her boss, she might even pity the guy. “I had a meeting with Tony Stark in the morning and that meeting turned into a trip to San Francisco.” 

Daisy eyes him wearily. “Tony Stark? Seriously?” 

“Seriously,” he says solemnly, leaning heavily on her desk. “Can I please just talk to her really fast? I just want to apologize.” 

The clack of heels causes him to look up, and Jemma Simmons stands before him in a smart pencil skirt and blouse, arms crossed over her chest. He’s never seen her with her hair wavy like that, not at all the conventions they’ve bumped into each other at, and it makes his mouth go dry before guilt overcomes him. 

She’d dressed up for their date, and he’d let her down. After years of crushing on this brilliant, beautiful woman, he’s lost his chance because of fucking Iron Man. 

“My last meeting with Tony landed me in Bangkok for two weeks,” Jemma says with a smile. “Did you at least bring me a souvenir?” 

He feels incredibly suave as he pulls out the small Golden Gate Bridge keychain that’s been burning a hole in his pocket. It had seemed a measly and pathetic offering when he’d purchased it at a corner store, but now it feels just right. 

“I did, actually, although I think it’s more of a token of groveling,” he says, dropping it into her open palm. 

Daisy rolls her eyes dramatically behind him and Jemma shoots her a look. “Hold my calls,” she says to her receptionist. Then she redirects her attention to Fitz. “I know it’s not exactly lunch at The Playground, but are you feeling up for tea in my office?” 

He nods so eagerly that Daisy barks out a laugh and he follows Jemma like a puppy dog down the hallway to her corner office. From her window, he can see most of Los Angeles. It might not be lunch at the Playground, but tea with Jemma Simmons, away from any other distraction, is the best first date he’s ever been on. 


	52. First Date (Season 2 AU)

He insists on picking her up at her bunk, an adorable concession that she’s willing to make. After all, she’s spent an inordinate amount of time getting ready. Aside from the Graduation Ball at the Academy, it’s probably the longest she’s ever spent on her own appearance.

His knock on her door, the special one he’s always used, immediately sets off the butterflies in her stomach. She swings open the door immediately and only after the fact does she realize it may have been too eager. His mouth moves silently for a moment. 

“You–wow, you look–really nice,” he stammers. She smiles at him, taking a moment to appreciate how nice he looks in his light grey suit. Jemma is immediately glad that she opted for one of her nicest dresses, rather than her first option of a pair of dark jeans with a blouse. 

“Thank you, Fitz. You look incredibly handsome.”

This causes him to blush bright right, hand flying up behind his neck as his other one hands her a clear plastic box. She blinks at it for a long moment. 

“Is this…” 

“…a corsage,” he mumbles, embarrassed. “That was…probably really stupid, wasn’t it?” 

It’s nearly identical to the one he’d presented her with when they’d gone to the Graduation Ball at the Academy. She’d been a bit nervous that he wouldn’t get her one, and she’d be the only woman without. Even though it had felt silly, fretting over a flower on her wrist like a prom queen, she’d still been so relieved that he’d brought one. 

It’s simple and small, a single orchid surrounded by little sprigs of emerald leaves. 

“No!” she exclaims after a long moment. “Sorry, I meant to–no, Fitz. It’s perfect. I can’t believe you remembered, that was nearly ten years ago.” 

“You kept showing it off,” he reminds her with a little smirk. He reaches forward to open the box, removing the little flower bracelet and tossing the plastic on her desk. She bites down the urge to scold him for leaving trash in her room, and lets him slip it over her left wrist. “It might look silly at the restaurant–” 

“I don’t care,” she blurts out. He smiles at her brightly and her heart flutters to see that expression on his face again. She put it there. 

Finally, she feels as though she’s not a burden on his shoulders. Feeling light and courageous, she steps forward to kiss his cheekbone. 

“Shall we?” she whispers. He nods wordlessly and offers his arm. She slips her hand through the crook of his elbow, careful not to crush the orchid. 

Months and many dinner dates later, the corsage, now dried and withered, hangs by a decorative pin above her workspace. 


	53. Together Or Not At All

“Jemma, don’t do this,” he says, eyes pleading. “You don’t need to do this. I’ll be okay.” 

Zombie Ward tightens his grip on Fitz’s arm. “What will it be, Simmons?” 

She raises her hands and nods at the Hydra agents to pat her down. “Let him go. I’ll come with you.” 

“I told you to go!” Fitz shouts. His fear at leaving her in the hands of It has him trembling and irrational. She narrows her eyes. 

“And I told you I’m not leaving.” 

“He doesn’t need both of us,” Fitz tries again. 

“He doesn’t need me,” Jemma agrees fiercely. “But he needs you, and unfortunately so do I. So I’m staying.” 

He wrenches himself from Zombie Ward’s grip and approaches her. It looks on with interest, holding the other agents back. Fitz wonders if he’s studying them, trying to catalogue their relationship somehow. He wonders if It still has Will’s memories. 

And that’s when it clicks. She can’t let him go because It killed Will, and she can’t let It kill him too. 

“Jemma, I know It killed…I know It killed him,” he whispers. “But you can’t–” 

“This isn’t about him!” Jemma says loudly. “I wasn’t even thinking of what he–it–did to Will. I’m thinking about what he could do to you.” 

“You being here with me isn’t going to change that!” 

“We’re staying here together or not at all,” she tells him fiercely. “I’m not brave enough to walk out of those doors without you, Fitz. I can’t live that life, wondering every second what they’ve done to you, okay? I’m staying. That’s final.” 

“But–” 

“Now you see how it feels,” she says simply. 

“Know how what feels?” he asks. His head is still pounding from the beat down he’d received from the Hydra agents who snatched him off of a field op. 

“I’m not saying it here. Not like this,” she tells him. When the Hydra agents swoop in to separate them again, Jemma clicks her tongue and shakes her head, putting an arm in front of him. 

“Now, now. You remember our deal, don’t you? If you want the information in here,” she says, tapping his temple, “then you’re going to let me stay with him. We’ll cooperate, but only together.” 

It steps forward, regarding them carefully. “You’ve always worked better together. Fine. Take them to the lab.” 

Fitz gulps and looks over at her nervously, but she’s squared her shoulders and stiffened her jaw. She’s going into battle, so he steels himself and follows her. 


	54. Swimming (Season 2 AU)

“Oh, come on, Fitz, join me!” she squeals, bobbing in the water. Skye and Trip are having a rather insistent water fight. 

If this is some kind of exposure therapy, he is not amused. 

As soon as Skye realized that the Playground had a pool, she’d been eager to have “pool parties” whenever the opportunity arose. Somehow, this had turned into Friday night swim sessions. Even May joined in on a few. 

He’s sure it had taken Jemma a while to be comfortable in the water, too. After all, she’s the one who remembered drowning; he doesn’t. Regardless, seeing her with her hair wet makes his chest tight.

She wades into the shallow end, just beneath where he’s standing, and lifts up a hand. “Please? It’s warm, and we can stay where can stand.” 

He huffs, looking over at Trip throwing Skye across the deep-end with ease. The last thing he wants to do is strip when there’s a practically Herculean hero present. It’s almost like Trip reads his mind, though, because he’s suddenly getting out of the pool and tossing a towel to Skye. 

They scamper off under the guise of choosing a movie for everyone to watch–a “team building” activity the Koenigs had started–and then he and Jemma are alone. 

“Jemma I–” 

“I nearly had a panic attack the first time I got in,” she admits to him softly. “But once I did, it helped. It got easier to shower again, easier to hear a faucet running. It might help.” 

With a reluctant sigh, he nods, flushing as he strips off his shirt and pants. Ever since his confession at the bottom of the ocean, she’s been decidedly more affectionate toward him, both verbally and physically, but they still haven’t actually talked about it. 

He wades in with eyes screwed shut, teeth clenched, and she swims over to him. Jemma wraps her arms around his torso and he slowly relaxes, sinking deeper into the water. 

“See?” she asks. “It’s not so bad.” 

Her hair floats around her, water droplets sticking to her eyelashes, and she looks so unbelievably beautiful that for a split second he nearly tells her that. 

“It’s not,” he finally says. She traces a water drop on his collar bone and looks up at him. 

“I’m proud of you,” she tells him. He snorts. 

“For–getting in a pool?” 

“For everything. For being who you are.” 

And then she’s kissing him, and it’s easy to lift her up to wrap around him since she’s practically weightless in the water. 

Despite almost drowning just two months prior, he decides that the water might just be his favorite place. 


	55. 3x10 Alternate Ending

The Pod lands and she tenses, watching as Mack walks out, going in to hug Bobbi and Hunter. He murmurs something to Bobbi and then she walks to the pod. Coulson emerges, arms outstretched for May. She’s so relieved to see them, but her heart has stopped beating as she waits for him to emerge. 

Will limps out, bloodied and bruised but alive. He moves for her and she side steps him. 

“Fitz?” she whispers. Will licks his lips and shakes his head with a loud gulp and she shoves past him, racing for the Pod. “FITZ!” 

He’s lying there on the ground, prone and bleeding, eyes shut. 

“NO!” she screams. It rips from her throat, animal and raw, and she pushes Bobbi out of the way. Her fingers grip his blue shirt even as Bobbi attempts to cut it off of him. 

“Jemma!” Bobbi yells sharply. “You need to move!” 

“No, no, no,” Jemma murmurs hysterically, tears streaming down her face. “Fitz, no, you said you would come back to me. You said you would.” 

“Somebody get her out!” Bobbi shouts to the team. Daisy comes and grabs her, yanking her backward as Jemma squirms and kicks. 

“He needs me!” she argues, jerking wildly. “Daisy, he needs me. _Skye, please!_ ” 

“Shh, Jemma, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Daisy murmurs, her own voice thick with tears. “You can’t help him like this. You can’t help him.” 

“Jemma–” Will tries, moving forward to grab her face in his hands. “Hey now. Hey. He was a hero. Just like you said.” 

“Let me go!” 

He drops his hands quickly and Lincoln comes over to him, grimly leading him away for a brief medical inspection.

Jemma’s sobs won’t subside and May levels Daisy with a heavy look. Taking in a shuddering breath and holding back a cry herself, Daisy moves one palm to the back of Jemma’s head and sends a quick, sharp pulse. Her friend goes limp in her arms and she lowers her, gently, onto the ground. 

When she comes to, she’s laying in the medical wing, head pounding. Daisy’s powers really pack a mean punch, and she reminds herself to avoid being on the receiving end of them ever again. 

Her panic for Fitz wells inside of her once again and she sits up, searching for him or for anyone who can tell her what happened. She sees Will, asleep in a bed to her right. He’s battered and decidedly injured, but her eyes linger on him only for a moment. 

He’s alive. He’s home. Her job is done. 

Then she sees Fitz, through the glass door to the other room. She swings her legs over the bed and makes her way toward him on shaking legs. 

“He nearly didn’t make it,” Hunter tells her quietly from the door way. “But he should pull through.” 

Jemma ignores him, wordlessly curling up on the chair beside him. 

Hunter takes pity on her, seeing something in her eyes that had stared at him in the mirror while he waited for Bobbi to wake up. 

“His left side is okay,” Hunter says softly. “If you want to hop in there.” 

Then he taps the door and leaves. She waits, staring at Will through the glass for a long moment. She’ll explain to him, soon. 

But now, she needs to her his heartbeat. She needs to feel his pulse thrum beneath her fingers. She needs him to open his blue eyes so she can look at them and tell him, once and for all, that he is _so_ much more than that.  

So she climbs in beside him and gingerly rests her head on his chest. She won’t move until he does. 


	56. Mourn Me (Inhuman AU Prequel)

On Day 2, he finally moves from the bathroom floor. As soon as he’d been escorted home by a pair of muscly Ops agents, he’d spent nearly an hour vomiting. Then he’d just…laid there, cheek pressed to the cold tile floor as he drifted in and out of restless unconsciousness. 

He exits the bathroom, head spinning with his need for food and water, but freezes when he turns toward the living room. The living room will lead him to the kitchen, but to get there, he’ll need to pass by her room. Jemma’s room.

The door is open, her lack of any kind of need for privacy with him incredibly evident. He shuffles in to her room like a zombie, pushed forward by some unnameable force. Her papers are piled neatly on her desk, a mug of tea, long gone cold, forgotten beside them. 

Her bed isn’t made and he makes up his mind. He moves quickly to the kitchen for a glass of water. He chugs it down and then pours another before grabbing a few granola bars out of the cabinet and practically running back into her room. He toes off his shoes and strips off his shirt, slipping into her soft sheets and burying his face in her pillow. 

It still smells like her shampoo, a combination of citrus and vanilla that he’d found absolutely intoxicating ever since he met her. He buries his face deeper into it, shifting to stare out toward her nightstand as he chokes on a sob. 

A framed photo of the two of them at their graduation stares back at him. Her lips are pressed to his cheek, a grin plastered on his lips. His eyes look incredibly alive, and he doubts he’ll ever look that way again.

She’s not here. She’s not visiting her parents or off on a weekend trip with some of the biology girls. 

Jemma is dead. Jemma is never coming back. 

He’d thought he’d cried out the last of his tears, but he was wrong. He forces himself to sit up so that his tears don’t soak into her pillow and ruin the scent of it. He can’t stand for any more parts of her to be taken from him. 

Holding his head in his hands, he weeps wildly into his palms. 


	57. Fitz/Coulson/Hunter Work Place Bromance

“Did you make that call?” Fitz asks dubiously, pointing at the grumpy Brit smacking at his keyboard. “He reeks of day-old whiskey and I’m not entirely sure he knows how to turn on that computer.” 

Coulson, his program manager, shakes his head. “Morse brought him on. Apparently she owed the guy a favor. Rumor has it they were married.” 

Fitz snorts. “Like a goddess and a hobbit.” 

“Speaking of marriage,” Phil begins, and Fitz immediately groans, “when are you going to make an honest woman out of Simmons, hm?” 

“You ever heard her try to lie?” Fitz laughs. He catches his girlfriend’s eye across the office, her fingers never stilling from her rapid typing. She scrunches her nose at him with a cute little smile and he throws her a wink. “Jemma’s nothing if not honest.” 

“Oi!” the new guy barks out. “Can someone help me with this bloody thing?” 

Fitz heaves a long-suffering sigh as Coulson shoves him forward. “What’s the problem?” 

“I can’t get it to turn on.” 

“Right here,” Fitz says, clicking on the monitor. “So what did you–what is it you’re supposed to do here exactly?” 

“I’m Bob’s new assistant,” he smirks, leaning back in his office chair. Fitz is pretty sure his eyebrows couldn’t go any higher if he tried. Bobbi is the most formal of the executives; Fitz has never even seen her wear jeans, but the man in front of her is wearing a hoodie and a homemade T-shirt plastered with GOD SAVE THE QUEEN. 

“Bob?” Coulson practically gasps. “You get away with calling her that?” 

“Now I wouldn’t go that far,” Hunter chuckles. “But hey, if you ever really wanna get under her skin, I’m your man.” 

Fitz decides right then and there that he’s afraid of this man and what he might do to SHIELD Software. 

*** 

“No, no, no,” Fitz mumbles. The screen in front of him has suddenly gone completely black, right in the middle of his code. He and Coulson are supposed to present this program to Bobbi Morse in just half an hour. 

“Please tell me that is happy mumbling,” Coulson says from the desk across from him. “In fact, that better be happy mumbling.” 

“It crashed,” Fitz gasps. “It’s gone. It’s all—it’s all gone.” 

“You backed it up,” Coulson says. 

Fitz just blinks at him. 

“You did back it up…didn’t you?” 

“Morse is going to kill me,” Fitz whimpers pitifully, banging his forehead against the keys. “Tell Jemma I loved her, would you?” 

“You’ve got a Bobbi Morse problem?” Hunter asks suddenly. Fitz jumps in surprise and Coulson just glares. 

“We don’t have time for this, Hunter.” 

“I can stall her,” Hunter says. “How much time will you need to re-write the doodad?” 

“I need at least four hours, she’ll be going home by then,” Fitz moans. 

“I can get you till tomorrow morning, mate,” Hunter winks. “Trust me.” 

He strides towards Bobbi’s office and Coulson looks at Fitz. “Do you trust him?” 

“Not in the slightest,” Fitz sighs. “But sadly, I think he’s our best bet.” 

*** 

Whatever it is that Hunter did, he’d bought them more than enough time–Morse cancelled the meeting and rescheduled it for after lunch the next day. The program is even better than it had been before, and he and Coulson knock the presentation out of the water. 

As they walk out of Bobbi’s office, Hunter grins at them. “Did it go well, then?” 

“Swimmingly!” Fitz exclaims, impulsively reaching out to high five the other man. Hunter barks out a laugh and slaps his palm against Fitz’s. 

“I’m taking you both out for drinks tonight,” Hunter announces. “On me. What do you say?” 

They both nod eagerly. It’s the beginning of Thirsty Thursdays–and a strange, beautiful friendship. 


	58. Doctor and Companion (Doctor Who AU)

“You can’t be serious, Jemma,” Will gapes at her. “He’s a mad man with a box.” 

Jemma just looks between her boyfriend and this strange new…friend, of hers. “We’ve seen what he can do, Will! He can travel through time and space!” 

“That’s not us,” Will says. “We have a life here. A good life.” 

“But I want more!” she explodes. He flinches and she reaches up to touch her brow in frustration. “I want more than this, Will.” 

The Doctor–or as she’s named him, Fitz–leans against his blue police box. “You’re more than welcome to join us…Will.” 

“This is insane,” Will says, putting his hands up in frustration. “Jemma, get back over here. You’re not going.” 

“Excuse me?” she gasps. “You think you can tell me where to go?” 

“This is like the no-fly zone all over again,” he groans. 

“That camping trip was a nightmare, and you wouldn’t even let me explore. I’m leaving, Will. You can come with me or not, but I’m going with him.” 

Fitz raises his eyebrows, crossing one ankle over the other as he watches their fight. 

“You’re not some time-traveling hero, Jemma, and you’re being ridiculous. You don’t even know this guy. He’s an _alien.”  
_

“I could be,” Jemma hisses. “I could be one. I could be anything. And it’s about time I actually tried.” 

She steps toward will and stands on her toes to kiss her cheek. “Goodbye, Will.” 

“So that’s it, then?” 

She turns her back and walks into the TARDIS, surprised to find that she’s not even shedding a tear. 

Fitz looks between the police box and the man a few feet away from it, shifting awkwardly. “Sorry about this, mate.” 

Then he slips inside and moves to the controls. Jemma looks around in awe. “Wow, it’s so much bigger on the inside!” 

“You couldn’t possibly think I was living in a box this size,” he snorts. “Or that I’d invite you along to take up more than half my space.” 

“More than half?” she asks with a scoff. “Hardly!” 

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, Simmons. Where do you want to go?” 

“Isn’t the proper question when do I want to go?” she teases. 

“That, too,” he laughs. “Anywhere you’d like.” 

She bites her lip and thinks. “How does one hundred years in the future sound?” 

“How about one thousand?” 

Her jaw drops and then she nods enthusiastically. “A thousand years it is, Fitz.” 

“I told you, it’s The Doctor.” 

“Only one of us has a doctorate degree,” she says primly, “and I am quite certain it is not you.” 

“Where’d you even get that name anyway?” he asks, face crinkling. “Can’t say I’m fond of it.”   
  
“It suits you.” 

“Whatever you say, Simmons.” 


	59. Left Behind (3x10 AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fitz gets left behind on Maveth

“You need to take a break,” Will says, sliding a cup of coffee in her direction. Jemma glares at the beverage and then at the man handing it to her. 

“No, I don’t. What I _need_  is to find the last portal and get Fitz back where he belongs,” Jemma says shortly. 

“The last portal was destroyed,” Will says gently. “You know that. You saw it. It’s been weeks now and every lead has been a dead end.” 

“He never gave up on me,” Jemma states plainly. “And I’m not going to give up on him.” 

“You’re driving yourself crazy. When was the last time you slept? Or ate?” 

“I slept 26 hours ago. If my previous record is any indication, I have about 2 more hours of productive work before I’ll need to rest. And I ate two hours ago. Bobbi has been bringing me meals.” 

“She doesn’t seem to like me much,” Will probes. She looks up from her notes to narrow her eyes at him.

“We’re all a bit _upset_  that Fitz is gone. They’re close.” 

“She blames me,” he says simply. “And so do you.” 

“He put you through that portal before he tried going through himself,” Jemma practically whispers, the fact of it slicing at her insides. “That was his fault. Fitz is incredibly selfless, and incredibly stupid.” 

Will looks wounded. “You would rather him have come back through than me.” 

She doesn’t say anything, just looks away and busies herself with her notes. 

“When you got back, and you were looking for me–it wasn’t like this, was it?” he asks, voice hoarse. She again ignores him, and he stands directly in front of her to force her eyes on him. “Answer me, Jemma.” 

“No,” she bites out. “I wasn’t. This is Fitz, Will. You don’t–you can’t possibly understand.” 

He laughs humorlessly. “No, I do understand, Jemma. I understand perfectly.” 

“He didn’t do this,” she shoots back. “He and I had a date, you know. Before I got thrown into hell. And when I came back he did everything he could to help me heal and when I told him all about you, he did every single thing he could to get you back, no matter how much it hurt him to do so–” 

“Well then I guess he’s a better man than me,” Will says, throwing his hands up. “I can’t watch this. I can’t watch you pining after someone else a galaxy away when there’s no way to even bring him back here!” 

“Then you should leave!” she shouts, slamming her hands down. Her hands shake and she runs them over her hair. “I think you should…I think you should go.” 

“You’re not the person you were on that planet,” Will says numbly. “And neither am I.” 

“No,” Jemma admits. She swallows heavily and looks him straight in the eyes. “I think I’m glad for it.” 

He turns and walks out. He leaves SHIELD the next morning; Jemma is boarding a separate jet with Bobbi, destined for a remote village in South America. She’s going to get Fitz back, no matter the cost. 

Because that’s who she is. Who she’s always been. Her loyalties don’t lie with SHIELD or even science, when it comes down to it; they lie with Fitz, and every moment that he’s gone is another moment shaved off of her own life. 

*** 

it takes them six weeks. Six weeks of unauthorized missions, six weeks of throwing fits in Coulson’s office when he tries to make her stop, six weeks of interventions by Daisy and Mack and even Hunter. 

But Bobbi and Hunter are her greatest allies. They break the rules for her. They hurt people for her. They help her do the dirty work and without them, she never would have found it, buried a hundred feet beneath the surface in the dry Nevada desert. 

She begs Daisy to rip the world apart for him, tears streaming down her face because she can’t do it herself. She wants to. She would. 

Daisy does it, because everyone has felt his absence acutely and painfully. Everyone has watched Jemma descend into someone different and yet similar, someone who pushes every boundary and law of nature to find the answers that she needs. 

Jemma goes through with Bobbi at her side, hooked together by cables. 

“FITZ!” Jemma screams. There is no dust storm, no raging cyclone to fight her way through. 

“Is this portal in a different location than the last? He may be there,” Bobbi suggests. 

Jemma nods and turns to her partner. “Bobbi, it may be far. We may not make it back on time. If you want to go back–I’ll understand. But I can’t.” 

Bobbi shakes her head firmly. “I’m not going back. I’m coming with you.” 

Jemma doesn’t try to talk her out of it. There’s no time for that, and she trusts Bobbi to make decisions for herself. They trudge nearly a mile before they find him, and when they do, Jemma runs at him so quickly that Bobbi nearly falls from the pull on their cord. 

“FITZ!” 

“Jemma?” he asks numbly. “Jemma!” 

She throws her arms around him, peppering his filthy face in kisses. “Oh thank God. You’re safe. You’re okay. You’re safe.” 

“Home?” he asks, voice cracking. Jemma nods eagerly, brushing tears off of her cheeks as she separates from him. 

“Yes, home,” she says, unable to hold back her beaming smile. 

“Come on,” Bobbi says, throwing one of Fitz’s arms over her shoulders. “Grab his other side. We need to move.” 

They lug him all the way back to the portal, Daisy collapsing back in utter exhaustion. 

“You dove through a hole in the universe for me,” he whispers once they’ve set him up in a bed, run fluids through his veins. She leans forward, kissing him softly on his lips. 

“What else was I going to do?” she whispers back, grasping his hand tightly. 

“How’s Will?” he asks after a long moment. “Did he adjust alright?” 

“He’s gone,” Jemma tells him simply. “But as far as I know, he’s healthy and okay.” 

“Gone?” 

“That’s another story. You need to rest,” she tells him, running a hand over his curls. 

“You kissed me.” 

“Well, you gave me the cue,” she chuckles. 

“So it’s…uh, it’s…” 

“I made a choice. Long before I even realized I made one, Fitz. You’re every choice I’ve ever made and ever will make. Always the answer, alright? Please rest.” 

And he does. She sits beside him, watching over him. 

“You finally look at peace,” Daisy observes when she stops by with another vase of daisies for his bedside table. Jemma smiles, genuinely, for the first time in ages. 

“I am.” 


	60. Do Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma finds out about Do Something

They’ve been together–actually together–for three months when she finally sees the footage. She and Daisy have to comb through hours and hours of footage of an empty room, all searching for one small movement in that godforsaken rock. It’s one of their more boring assignments, and they spend their time throwing popcorn at each other, discussing new Inhumans and how to make the transition process easier, and, of course, their respective boyfriends. 

It’s nice, Jemma thinks, to be happy. It’s not the best job Coulson has ever handed her, but she gets to do it with Daisy. 

It stops being fun the moment she watches him burst through the door with a gun in his hand. 

“Fitz,” she whispers, so softly Daisy nearly misses it. 

“Oh shit,” Daisy says, jumping. “Jemma, you might wanna go.” 

“No,” she says, more fiercely than intended. “What is he doing?” 

She gasps, jumping up, when Fitz shoots the lock off of the glass case around the monolith. 

“Jemma, really, I don’t think–” 

Fitz tosses the gun aside, swinging open the door and squaring up against the rock. The Doomsday Rock that ruined her life. 

“What is he doing?” Jemma whimpers, pressing herself as close to the screen as she can get. Her eyes don’t leave the image of him. “Daisy, what is he doing?” 

Daisy drops her face into her hands. “We told you, it got bad at the end.” 

“DO SOMETHING!” he screams suddenly. Jemma’s entire body tenses as she watches him beat and pound on the rock, screaming his lungs out. A sob rips from her throat and her hand presses to the screen. 

“No, no, somebody do something,” she says to the screen. “Somebody do something!” 

As if on cue, Bobbi and Hunter come running into the room, Daisy and Mack on their heels. They rip him out of the box and slam it shut. She watches as Bobbi kneels in front of Fitz–the audio goes quite for a moment. 

“I won’t give up,” he pants, shaking his head. “I can’t give up.” 

“Excuse me,” Jemma says weakly. She stands and leaves the room, mind completely blank and legs numb. She has to find him. 

He’s in the common room, playing a video game with Mack and Hunter on their lunch break. 

“Fitz,” she says, the sound of her voice cracking on his name drawing his attention immediately. Mack hits pause on the game and Fitz stands on instinct, moving for her before he’s even registered what’s going on. 

“What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” 

She throws herself at him, squeezing him so tightly against her that it nearly hurts. She buries her face in his neck and the scent of his cologne brings on a heavy round of sobbing. Mack and Hunter exit quietly and quickly, leaving them alone. 

“Jemma, please, what’s wrong?” he pleads. “Are you hurt? Is it Daisy? What happened?” 

“I saw it,” she cries. “I saw what you did.” 

He gulps, shutting his eyes to the memory of pounding his hands against the solid blackness that took her from him. 

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s over. Everything turned out okay, didn’t it?” 

She shoves him backward and he stumbles, completely confused. She wipes furiously at her cheeks. 

“Don’t you ever do something like that again!” she says, pointing her finger at him. “First you–you did that, and then you dove through a hole in the universe for me and then you did it _again_.” 

“Jemma…” 

“No,” she cuts him off. “Promise me now. No more sacrifice plays, Fitz. I can’t take it. I won’t survive the next one, especially if you don’t.” 

“Okay,” he agrees, reaching out his hands once more. “Okay, I promise.” 

She moves back into his arms, reveling in his warmth. She pulls back only far enough to kiss him briefly before snuggling back in to his neck. 

“When did you get so good at shooting a gun?” she suddenly asks against his neck. 

“Uh, you’re not going to like that answer.” 

He’s right. She doesn’t. 


	61. Rain on Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jemma in the rain for the first time since returning from Maveth

He’s surprised to find her there, standing in front of the window even though it’s pouring rain outside. Even if it wasn’t, the sun would have risen hours ago. 

“So much for a lazy Sunday,” he says quietly as he approaches. She turns to him with a huge smile. 

“I heard it was going to rain,” she says softly. She clutches a mug of tea in her hands, tearing her eyes away from him so she can look back out of the window. “It was strange. All I wanted was the sun, but I always dreamt about the rain.” 

He shuffles forward, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and notching his chin on her shoulder. “You’ve always loved the rain.” 

“It’s the smell,” Jemma explains. “The first rain of the season smells so lovely. I’ve been trying to manufacture it for–” 

“–years,” Fitz finishes with a chuckle. “We’ve shared a lab for years, Jemma.” 

She laughs and tilts her head back against him. “I just wish I could smell it. This window doesn’t open.” 

He gently uncurls her hands from around the mug, setting it on the window sill. “C’mon.” 

He double checks her feet and then nods decisively. 

“You’re wearing shoes. Good.” 

He tangles his fingers with hers, tugging her along down a labyrinth of underground hallways. “Fitz, where are you taking me?” 

“You’ve always gotta know everything, don’t you? You never let me surprise you with anything.” 

“Yes I do!” she gasps, scandalized. “Our first date was a surprise.” 

“We are _not_ counting that as our first date,” he scoffs. 

“Oh, Fitz!” 

“Don’t ‘oh, Fitz’ me on this one,” he huffs. “Our first date was that stop-over in London.” 

She rolls her eyes but grins at the back of his head. “Deal.” 

He leads her up a set of stairs she didn’t know existed, bursting through a door with a burst of cold air. Jemma gasps and rushes forward after him. 

“A roof! I didn’t think we had one of these,” she breathes. 

“Yeah, I didn’t either,” he grins. “But then Hunter wanted to come up here to shoot off bottle rockets, and–” 

“You did not.” 

“Of course we did,” he smirks. “Mine went the highest, in case you were wondering.” 

She laughs, loudly and wildly, throwing out her arms to spin in a little circle. “The smell, Fitz! It smells so amazing.” 

He leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches her. 

“It smells nice,” he admits. “It’s always reminded me of you, y’know. Ever since that first rainy day at the Academy.” 

“I made you run through the fountain,” she giggles. “Oh, you were so angry when you got a cold.” 

“You’ve been causing me nothing but trouble for over ten years, Simmons.” 

“But you’ve loved it,” she smirks, coming over to pull him by the hands. “Just like I love you.” 

It’s the first time she’s said it, flat-out, but it feels like the perfect moment. Their ghosts are gone. They wake up side-by-side each morning. He takes her on dates whenever he can, and she surprises him with pancakes on Saturday mornings. 

She loves him and she wants him to know it. He tucks a wet piece of hair behind her ear and bends down to kiss her, slow and soft. 

“I love you too, Jemma,” he murmurs. “So are you gonna make me catch another cold, or are you about ready to go in now?” 

She laughs, nuzzling her nose against his. “I’d hate for you to get sick. I think our lazy Sunday could become a lot…less lazy.” 

He practically runs back to their bunk, tugging her along as she giggles, dripping water everywhere. 


	62. Do Something (Part 2)

“You have to tell me, you know,” Jemma mumbles against his chest later that night. 

“I just…I don’t see why we need to do this,” he groans, tightening his grip around her shoulders. “We’re happy, Jemma. Things are good. We’re both safe.” 

“You know everything,” she tells him hoarsely. “Even the parts I never…I never wanted to have to tell you. But I hardly know anything about the things that happened to you while I was gone, and obviously that was a mistake.”

He sighs heavily, one hand drifting into her hair. “You have to promise not to get upset.” 

“We both know I won’t make that promise,” she huffs. “Please, Fitz. I need to know.” 

The plea in her voice erodes at his will. 

“Fine. But just the minimum alright?” 

She obviously isn’t pleased, but she nods anyway. 

“You’d been gone for nearly three weeks when we got the first lead. Problem was, that lead came from Colombia, from one of the major cartels there.” 

He feels her tense beneath his hands and he takes a deep breath. 

“Bobbi was still rehabbing her knee, but I needed a pilot and she needed to get out of this base. She was losing her mind here and so was I. I had no idea she was a biochemist, before. Anyway, we kinda became a…a team.” 

An irrational jealousy rises in Jemma. “Oh, wow. I didn’t realize it happened that early.” 

“I don’t know that I would have survived it, without her and Hunter. Daisy was so busy with grieving her parents and trying to start her team. Mack was busy with that too, so it just left the three of us picking up the pieces. Bobbi said she would fly me there, on one condition. I had to learn how to fight.” 

“Fitz…” 

“Don’t worry,” he chuckles. “I’m no Melinda May, promise. Just enough to disarm someone. And I’m a damn good shot now.” 

“I noticed, in that video.” 

She presses herself upward, hovering over his face. She runs one hand over his cheek and stares into his eyes. 

“I never want you to have to do anything like that again,” she tells him softly. Fitz nods rapidly. “I want you to be safe, always. I hate that you had to get your hands dirty.” 

“I don’t,” he says, shaking his head sharply. “It got you back. It let you live. I’m just sorry I didn’t do it sooner.” 

“Stop,” she interrupts. “We’ve been over this a hundred times. _You_ did everything right.” 

He gives her a tight-lipped smile and she kisses it off of his face. 

“How often did you have to use these…skills?” 

“Not that often,” he lies. She pegs him with a stare and he caves. “Alright, it was quite a lot. And I mostly got away with it, the only close call was with ISIS.” 

“Did you just…did you just say ISIS?” she asks, voice deadly calm. His eyes widen and he attempts to backtrack. 

“Did I? I meant to say…um, I was trying to say…” 

“Don’t you dare _ever_ do anything like that _again_ ,” she says fiercely. “I mean it, Fitz. If anything happens to you I will lose my bloody mind, so you have to stay in one piece.” 

“Okay,” he agrees. “So long as you let go of all of this.” 

“What? “

“You’ve got to let it go, Jemma. It’s crushing you,” he says, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Sometimes you’ve got to let go of the weight.” 

“I will if you do,” she mumbles, pouting. He grins up at her. 

“Promise,” he vows. “Hey, let’s get away soon.” 

“Really?” 

“Really. I think we could use a break,” he says, flipping her over so he hovers over her. 

“I do too,” she smiles, tracing his features with her fingertips. “Where do you want to go?” 

He scrunches up his face and she has to resist the urge to tug him down to her mouth and forget this entire conversation. 

“How’s Perthshire sound?” 

That’s when she drags him down, but she doesn’t forget the conversation. Nine days later, they’re on a jump jet to Perthshire. 


	63. FitzHunter Brotp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: FitzHunter brotp + what the hell are you wearing?

“What the hell are you wearing?” Hunter splutters as Fitz emerges from his bunk. 

“What d’you mean?” Fitz asks, staring down at his outfit in confusion. “I’ve had these forever.” 

“I thought we left the grandma cardigans behind, mate,” Hunter observes. 

“What’s wrong with my cardigan?” Fitz yelps. “I like my cardigans. They’re comfortable. And functional. And–” 

“And you haven’t worn one of them since you lost Simmons,” Hunter points out. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen you two together much, since.” 

“I’ve been busy,” he lies through his teeth, trying to brush past his friend. Hunter catches him by the arm and stops him. 

“You’re avoiding her,” Hunter says simply. “So if you’re doing that, it’s my obligation as your friend to tell you she’s in the lab right now.” 

Fitz looks away from Hunter, debating whether or not to come clean. With a heavy sigh, he looks back to him. 

“Wanna grab a beer?” 

“Only always.” 

They grab a few out of the fridge and head to the common area to turn on some video games. Hunter watches Fitz carefully, noting how quickly he’s downing his drink at 2 in the afternoon, the trembling in his left hand, and the bags under his eyes. 

“What happened to Daniels wasn’t your fault,” Hunter says suddenly. Fitz looks over at him with wide eyes. 

“Course it was.” 

“It wasn’t,” Hunter shoots back. “Simmons doesn’t think so either.” 

“She has to.” 

“Well, funny thing is, she still doesn’t,” Hunter persists. “All I’m saying is, you can play the blame game all you want…but don’t take it out on Simmons. She misses you.” 

“She…said that?” 

“Something like it,” Hunter evades. He chooses not to tell Fitz that the whole reason he’d even been outside of the engineer’s bunk in the first place had been because Jemma had cornered him in the gym and begged him to check on Fitz for her. “She’s worried about you. And you’re worried about her, so you might as well worry about each other together.” 

“I don’t want her to think…” Fitz trails off, unable to complete the thought, and Hunter pegs him with a serious stare. 

“Right now, she seems to think you want nothing to do with her.” 

“That’s not true!” Fitz immediately denies. “I…I’m wearing this because she got me this jumper. Maybe if she saw it, she’d know I’m not mad at her or anything, I just…” 

“Need some time,” Hunter fills in. “And the beer?” 

“Trying to get up the nerve to walk by her,” Fitz grimaces. Hunter barks out a laugh and claps Fitz on the shoulder. 

“I’ll come with you. If you’re not ready to talk to her, that’s fine. Try not to wait too long, though. There’s only so long you can let your sweater do the talking.” 

Fitz shuts down the game and lets Hunter lead the way toward the lab. As soon as Jemma sees him, she tilts her head in confusion. Then some kind of recognition lights up her eyes as they fall on the thick knit of his cardigan. A small smile plays on her lips and he knows that she understands. 

Hunter looks between them and then leans in a bit closer to Fitz. 

“The two of you make no bloody sense,” he mumbles under his breath. This draws a chuckle out of Fitz and Hunter considers his afternoon mission a success. 


	64. Hopelessly In Love With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3x10 AU. Will makes it home and they deal with the consequences

“Fitz?” she asks tentatively, pierced with guilt as soon as she notes the way his spine stiffens when he hears her voice. 

“What?” 

“I just…well, I wanted to come say goodbye, before you leave. Please, be careful,” Jemma says, voice trembling as he double checks his equipment. Her head spins with the deja vu of watching him leave, embarking on some dangerous mission while she struggles to hold her pieces together. 

“Yeah, okay,” he says shortly. “I will.” 

She grits her teeth and forces herself to continue, even though he won’t even look at her. Ever since he returned from Maveth, he’d been throwing himself into field work with a manic kind of energy that had her heart pounding ruthlessly against her chest nearly every moment of every day. 

“Well you haven’t been, lately,” she points out. “You’ve only just gotten cleared for the field again, and–” 

He slams down the DWARF case and whirls on her. She jumps in surprise. 

“I’m fine, Jemma. Believe it or not, I’m not completely useless.” 

Her breath hitches as another wave of deja vu crashes over her. “You can’t honestly still think–Fitz, I don’t–” 

“Look, Jemma, I don’t have time for this, alright? This Inhuman we’re tracking is serious, and–” 

“Of course it’s serious, that’s why I’m asking you to be careful!” she explodes. Now he flinches, but she presses on. “You’re acting like you’ve got some kind of death wish! I’ve hardly seen you, let alone had a real conversation with you, in weeks! You’re always coming or going and you won’t even _look_ at me anymore–” 

“Because I can’t watch you with someone else!” he shouts back, interrupting her tirade. “It’s tearing me apart. The way you ran to him when I pulled him back through the portal, it’s–I can’t do this, Jemma. I never wanted to be this person, and I swear once I’ve had time to get over you I’ll be a better friend but right now I just _can’t_.” 

“How can you think I’m anything but hopelessly in love with you?” she practically whimpers. She’s fighting back tears now and his jaw slackens. 

“What?” 

“Is that what this is about?” she asks, managing a watery laugh and stepping closer to him. “Fitz, I talked to Will three days after he got here, as soon as he was stable. I told him how I feel about you. He already knew, before I even finished my sentence. He and I aren’t…we’re not anything, anymore. He’s my friend but that’s it.” 

“You didn’t…uh, you didn’t tell me that,” he rasps out, chest still heaving from their fight. She smiles at him, shaking her head. 

“You didn’t give me a chance, always running away from me like you were.” 

“I just thought–” 

“I know what you thought,” she says, reaching forward to grab his hands so she can lace her fingers with his. “But, not for the first time, you were completely wrong.” 

“So you…you, uh…” 

“Love you,” she finishes. “Of course I do.” 

“You…you chose me.” 

“Of course I did,” she tells him. “What else was I going to do?” 

Unlike their kiss in the lab, he takes his time now. One of his hands runs up her arm, tracing her neck before it settles in the back of her hair. She watches him carefully, cataloguing his expression with a fearful kind of hope, and when he finally leans down to kiss her, she melts against him like they’ve been doing this for years. 

“You never said it back,” she whispers when he finally pulls away. He leans back to look at her with a little smirk on his face. 

“How could you ever think I’m anything but hopelessly in love with you?” he asks, echoing her words. She tugs him back down against her, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him tightly. 

“Are you still going?” 

He sighs. “Yeah, I have to. But I really will be careful. I promise.” 

She nods against his neck. “After this one can you…would you maybe consider backing off on the field?” 

“Yeah,” he answers immediately. “Yeah, of course.” 


	65. Last Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Role Reversal AU. Jemma gave Fitz the last breath in the Pod, and suffered memory loss as a result. (Disclaimer, I wrote this very quickly and didn’t really do any legitimate research on memory loss, so the parts of her memory that are missing are probably scientifically inaccurate): 

 

“Did I like the color blue?” Jemma asks him suddenly. He looks up at the abrupt question and nearly drops his prototype that he’s spent hours working on. She’s standing in the door to the lab, wearing jeans and one of Skye’s t-shirts, hair cut short. He’ll never get used to her like this. 

“Huh?” 

“Was blue my favorite color?” she rephrases. “I just…sometimes its hard to tell what’s a memory and what’s just…new.” 

“I uh, I’m actually not sure,” he evades, scratching behind is ear. “Besides, you know you’re not supposed to ask me these questions, Simmons.” 

“Sorry,” she grimaces. “I’m just getting rather frustrated.” 

He frowns, shoving back his own grief and reminding himself that Jemma is the one who lost everything. She’s the one who doesn’t remember. 

_You’re more than that, Fitz._

“I know,” he sighs. “Listen, are you sure you don’t want to go home to your parents? They could help you.” 

“I don’t–I don’t want them to see me like this,” she says quietly, looking at the ground. “Their daughter had two PhDs. The only thing I remember about biology is that the mitochondria is the power house of the cell.” 

He snorts. “Funnily enough, you always used to tell me that was the most useless tidbit of information they teach in school.” 

She smiles a bit bitterly. “Really? Well, apparently it stuck.” 

“Your favorite color was blue,” he blurts out. “What shade are you thinking, though?” 

“Light blue,” she answers, starting to look a bit excited. “A bit darker than the sky.” 

The strangest combination of distress and joy floods his chest. “Yeah, that was it.” 

“Fitz, maybe it’s coming back!” 

“Yeah, maybe,” he shrugs. He turns back to his prototype and she lingers briefly in the doorway. He doesn’t look up until her footsteps fade, and as soon as they do, he throws his prototype on the floor. 

*** 

Three days later, she sets a bowl of pretzels down at his work station and leaves without a word. 

She doesn’t ask him if they’re his favorite. He doesn’t ask her if she remembers. 

*** 

Nearly a month goes by, and she doesn’t ask him a single question, but she keeps bringing him things, little hints that she may be coming back to him. First it’s pancakes waiting on the counter. Then she starts wearing her blouses again, pinning little pieces of her now-short hair out of her face in what would be proper lab protocol (if she still worked in the lab). One night he walks past her bunk and hears the Doctor Who theme song. 

She looks at Skye over lunch one day and cocks her head to the side. 

“I like men my height but heavier than me,” Jemma grins. Skye chokes on her sandwich and Fitz just stands there, confused, when Skye inexplicably throws herself at Jemma in a tearful hug. He leaves them to their moment. 

She becomes good friends with Bobbi, the Ops agent who returned from going undercover in Hydra. She plays video games with Hunter, the mercenary, and Fitz does his best not to be jealous that he makes her laugh. 

She falls back into her relationships, some all at once and some slowly. He catches her reading a science journal over her tea and she blushes, looking away from his questioning eyes. 

He doesn’t want to push her. Every time he pushed her, just after she’d woken up, she’d panicked. She’d cried and screamed and he’d scared her half to death, made her feel like she’d never be whole again. 

He never wants to make her feel that way, so he stays in the lab. He lets her make new friends. He gets used to the emptiness. 

*** 

Two months, three days, and four hours after she woke up, a pounding on his door startles him from his half-sleeping state. He stumbles onto his feet and slides the door open, surprised to find Jemma standing there with tears in her eyes and shaking hands. 

“I remember everything,” she whimpers. 

“What?” he breathes. 

“You hated me at the Academy,” she says. “You couldn’t stand me, wanted nothing to do with me–” 

“Jemma, wait,” he interrupts, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off the disappointed tears springing to his eyes. “No, you don’t–you have it all wrong. That’s not a memory. I never hated you.” 

“Yes you did!” she insists. He’s surprised at her ferocity, at her sudden sureness. “You hardly spoke to me, you wouldn’t even look at me. But then we got paired up in chem lab. Together we’re twice as smart. We got placed at SciOps and you followed me onto the BUS even though we had that huge row about it the night before and I thought you wouldn’t come. I wasn’t going to go without you even though I said I was.” 

She gasps in a pained breath. “You broke into containment when I had that virus. You’ve been beside me the whole damn time. You’re my best friend in the world and…and you’re more than that, and I’m afraid I ruined it all by telling you that the first time but what’s left of it now?” 

“Jemma…” 

“My head really hurts,” she tells him. “I’ve got..it’s like I’m being bombarded by information. Memories and equations and blue prints. The one thing that doesn’t hurt is you.” 

“When did it start coming back?” he finally manages to ask. 

“About a month ago,” she admits. He flinches and she reaches out for him. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to get your hopes up. The only one who knew was Skye…” 

“And you both lied to me?” 

“We never lied to you!” she argues. “Fitz, please, I was only trying to help. You were…you were moving on with your life, moving forward without me.” 

“Moving forward?” he scoffs. “I was frozen. Stopped in place. I don’t…I didn’t know what to do without you. Who to be without you.” 

“Well, I’m back,” she says weakly. A tear falls down her cheek and he brushes it off on instinct. 

“We still haven’t spoken about what you said at the bottom of the ocean,” Fitz murmurs, taking a step closer. She blinks and shakes her head. 

“There’s nothing to discuss, Fitz.” 

“Maybe there is,” he whispers. And then he kisses her, because this is all he’s been waiting for. 


	66. Scream

“I bet I can make you scream my name.”

Jemma represses the shiver that runs up her spine and does her best to look confident. 

“I’ll remind you that Leopold is _technically_ your name.” 

She’s not sure how this ended up being the game they’re playing. She supposes it started with Lincoln and Daisy. Daisy had refused to call him anything but Pikachu for their entire trip out to the snow, only relenting when he’d pelted her with snowballs. 

Somehow it had turned into a battle of the wills amongst all of the SHIELD agents, and while the rest had grown bored or tired, Fitz and Jemma had remained outside, Jemma still stubbornly referring to him as Leopold. 

He narrows his eyes at her and next thing she knows, she’s been tackled backward onto the cold ground. She shrieks, squirming beneath him as his glove-covered hands reach up underneath her coat and make contact with her bare stomach. They’re wet and cold and incredibly ticklish. 

“No!” 

“Say it,” he growls jokingly. “C’mon, Simmons.” 

“Never!” she giggles. He sighs heavily and throws one leg over her lap, sitting up and trapping her beneath him. The smile slowly melts off of her face as she thinks of all the much more comfortable and pleasant ways he could get her to scream his name. 

For a short moment of indecision, she holds herself back. Then she swallows back her fear and does what she’s wanted to do since that afternoon in the lab. She tugs him down on top of her and captures his lips in a cold kiss. For a heart wrenching moment, he does nothing. She pushes him up again, enough so that she can speak. 

“Fitz?” she asks nervously. 

“It’s not a scream but it’ll do,” he replies. She grins up at him and he leans back down to kiss her once more. “Now c’mon, you’re gonna catch your death out here.” 


	67. Jurassic Fight (Bus Kids)

“I’m just saying!” Jemma practically shouts. “If that idiot had better understood the way that DNA fundamentally _works_ , then it wouldn’t have been so bad.” 

Fitz grins as he rounds the corner, very much looking forward to being the one who scolds her for being mean to the lab techs. He freezes when he sees Jemma and Daisy, squaring off in an incredibly uncharacteristic argument. 

“No way, Simmons! It’s literally _never_ a good idea to bring back the dinosaurs.” 

“Wait, what?” Fitz interuppts. “What are you two fighting about?” 

“We’re not fighting,” they both deny at once. They share a small smile and turn back to him. 

“We just watched Jurassic World,” Daisy explains. “And Jemma here seems to think that if she had been the head geneticologist, things would have turned out differently.” 

“It’s geneticist,” Fitz and Jemma both correct in sync. Daisy rolls her eyes and gestures at herself. 

“And I’m a high school drop out. Cut me some slack. C’mon, Fitz, back me up. Bringing back the dinosaurs is not a good plan, no matter how many IQ points you have.” 

Fitz looks between them a bit nervously. On one hand, Daisy is a superhero who could, technically, quake him into oblivion. On the other hand, Jemma is his best friend, partner, and most likely, the love of his life. The look in her eyes is altogether too similar to the time they played a drinking game at SciOps and she wanted him to drink for her. 

 _If you don’t do this for me, I will shave your head in your sleep_ , her eyes seem to say. 

Fitz clears his throat. “I gotta go with Jemma on this one. She could probably bring back the dinosaurs without any major blood shed.” 

Daisy’s jaw drops and she glares at him. “You don’t even believe that! You’re just saying that cause Simmons really knows how to rock your pogo stick, if you know what I’m saying.” 

“Daisy!” Fitz gasps, slapping his hands over his face. 

“Of course we know what you mean,” Jemma snaps. “But he said it because he means it. Don’t you, Fitz?” 

He cautiously opens his fingers, revealing only one eye to her. Sheepishly he shakes his head. 

“Dinosaurs are massive and terrifying,” he mumbles, but she can still hear him even through his palms. “Even you couldn’t make a living dinosaur without it seriously injuring someone. At least.” 

She narrows her eyes once more and gathers the notebooks in front of her, where she’d been sketching DNA splicing samples for Daisy. 

“Well we’ll just see about that!” Jemma huffs. “And you can rock your own pogo stick for a while.” 

Daisy cracks up laughing and pats him on the back as Jemma leaves. “Sorry, dude. Didn’t mean to majorly cock block you there.” 

He groans with a petulant stomp of his foot. Recognition dawns on both of them at the same time and they stare at each other, wide-eyed. 

“You don’t think she’s actually going to…” Daisy starts, trailing off.

“Oh no,” Fitz breathes. “She really will.” 

They take off running down the hallway, Daisy in the lead. 

“Simmons!” 

“Jemma, do _not_ make a dinosaur in our lab!” 


	68. Inadvertent Disclosure

She wakes up to him getting ready to crawl into bed. He’d been running tests late in the lab and she’d given in and gone to sleep without him. 

“Fitz?” 

“Hey,” he says softly. “Go back to sleep.” 

She blinks against the soft light, instantly taking note of the stiffness of his movements. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Hm? Yeah, of course,” he says quickly. He turns his face away from her and she sits straight up, grabbing his chin to tilt it back. 

“Why the hell are you bleeding?!” she yelps, grabbing at the tissues on their bedside table to dab at his cut. 

He grimaces. “I kind of fell asleep during the testing. Turns out the mechanical components got a bit too hot, and–” 

“The machine exploded,” she finishes. 

“I wouldn’t say exploded, I would say–” 

“You got hurt,” she states. “You need to be more careful, Fitz. This is the fourth time in the last two weeks you’ve managed to hurt yourself.” 

“Just a little distracted,” he says with a shrug. “It’s not a big deal, Jemma.” 

“You got hit in the head by machinery!” Jemma interuppts, a bit shrilly. He winces against the noise and she glares at him. “You’re probably half-concussed.” 

“Jemma, I’m fine,” he repeats firmly. “I just want to go to sleep, okay?” 

“I’m just worried,” she says as he turns off the light and lays down beside her. “You’re not usually so distracted, and you won’t tell me what’s bothering you.” 

“Nothing’s bothering me,” he murmurs. “Okay? I promise, nothing is going on. There’s just a lot of projects going on right now.” 

Jemma bites her lip and listens to his breathing as it evens out. She knows all of his projects as well as her own, and she knows he’s worked on more than he is now without any problems. 

In the morning, she wakes up before him and heads into the lab. She manages to talk herself into searching through the papers on his desk. Perhaps there’s a problem that she can help solve. After all, it doesn’t feel as much like snooping when she’s just trying to help. 

Pages and pages of sloppy notes sit underneath an applied physics book in the corner of his desk, and she tentatively lifts it to examine them. 

She only makes it through the first sheet before she slams the book back down and backs away, hands flying to her mouth as she gasps. 

Fitz is going to propose. 


	69. Going Public

It all started innocently enough. Daisy had taken to changing Jemma’s alarm tone every few days, an effort to cheer her up in the tumultuous days since Fitz and Coulson returned through the destroyed portal. 

But now? It’s been months, and it’s driving Fitz up the wall. 

He’s ninety-percent sure that Daisy knows that he’s sleeping in Jemma’s room more nights than not now. They’re trying to keep things between them, for now, in these fledgling stages of a new relationship in an agency full of spies. 

The ringtones have gotten weirdly specific, lately. That had been his first hint. On Monday, Jemma’s alarm had blared Passion Pit at them. 

_Let this be our little secret, no one needs to know we’re feeling–higher and higher and higher_

On Tuesday, it had been an overly-specific portion of Moves Like Jagger. 

_And if I share my secret, you’re gonna have to keep it. Nobody else can see this.  
_

By Wednesday, Daisy had apparently grown sick of subtlety, opting for a song that had been popular back in their Academy days. 

_I’ll keep you my dirty little secret. Don’t tell anyone, or we’ll be just another regret_

Worse than the songs (and what they meant) was how damn catchy they all are. That’s how Fitz finds himself bobbing up and down at his computer, analyzing Inhuman data and singing under his breath. 

“I built this cardboard neighborhood’s disgrace, but I ascend and serve my feverish need, within the confines of such chemistry,” he hums along. 

A light giggle startles him and he turns around to find Jemma standing there with her hand over her mouth. “Jemma!” 

“She’s getting in your head,” Jemma teases, moving past him to snap on a pair of gloves. 

“Help,” he whines. “I can’t stop singing.” 

“If you don’t stop, she’s going to figure it out,” Jemma warns, but she’s smirking. He furrows his brow. 

“You seem pleased about that.” 

Jemma shrugs unconvincingly and turns her back on him abruptly. “What? No. I’m not–I wouldn’t want to–we decided to keep things between us.” 

He narrows his eyes at her back. “After all these years, you’re still a horrible liar. What is going on, Jemma?” 

She turns around slowly, looking inexplicably guilty. “Daisy hasn’t been changing the alarm. I have.” 

He blinks at her in confusion. “What? Why?” 

“Well, I–Daisy really was changing my ring tone, but it was to stuff like Walking on Sunshine–” 

Fitz scoffs. “A bit ironic.” 

Jemma laughs. “Yes, exactly. And things have been going so well with us this last month and I just…wanted to see how you would feel if someone else knew. I was…testing it out.” 

“You were testing me?” 

“Not testing you!” Jemma denies loudly. “Testing your readiness to disclose our relationship to the others.” 

He approaches her slowly, wrapping his arms around her waist. She gasps lightly, glancing around them nervously. 

“Jemma, I’d have sent out a formal interoffice memo if you’d said that’s what you wanted,” he murmurs. She grins up at him.

“Really?” 

“Really,” he confirms. “I know I was the one who said we should keep things between us, but I was only doing that because I wasn’t sure if…uh, if…” 

The grin slips off of her face. “If I was sure about us.” 

“No!” he rushes to say. “I just mean–I didn’t want you to rush into anything and regret it.” 

“I regret a lot of things from the last two years,” she whispers. “But you’re not even close to on that list.” 

“Good,” he chuckles. He drops a tender kiss to her lips and she eagerly responds despite their setting. “So, we’re going public?” 

“We’re going public.” 


	70. Speak Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where FitzSimmons never joined Coulson's team, and Fitz never realized how he felt about her.

It’s a mistake. She knows that this is a mistake because he can’t possibly be agreeing to spend the rest of his life with someone who isn’t her. He can’t be marrying some anthropology professor from the university where they started teaching after the fall of SHIELD. 

After everything they’ve bene through together, this can’t be happening. She’s waited for so long, buried this down deep inside of her, and as he sits there in front of her in his best suit with shaking hands, she has to say it. 

She has to say it before he proposes to another woman. She’s here as moral support before he leaves to pick her up for the most romantic night of her life, but she’s about to change everything. For better or for worse. 

“Fitz, you can’t get married.” 

“What?” he gasps, halting in his pacing. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

“It’s–it doesn’t make sense!” 

“What do you mean?” 

“She doesn’t–she never understands what you’re talking about. She doesn’t let us spend time together on weekends anymore–” 

“Jemma, you said you understood.” 

“What else was I supposed to say?” she exclaims, throwing her hands up. “Was I supposed to tell you I thought she was wretched for wanting us to separate?” 

“How would you feel, if a man you dated was this close to another woman?” he defends, gesturing between them. “Wouldn’t you feel a bit put out by that?” 

“I probably wouldn’t date him!” Jemma bursts out. “Fitz, you can’t…please, don’t do this. You’ve only been dating this woman for six months.” 

“She said she wants to move forward,” Fitz tells her firmly. “She said she doesn’t want to waste her time if this isn’t going anywhere.” 

“After six months?” Jemma gasps. “Fitz, do you even _love_ her?” 

He blinks at her. “How can you ask me that?” 

“That’s not an answer.” 

“I…I don’t know. I think…yes.” 

“You think?” Jemma laughs bitterly, standing from the couch. “Thinking you love someone isn’t a good enough reason to get married.” 

“And how would you know? You’ve never been in love with anyone! You’re too busy, you’re always saying that you’ve got no interest in any of this! So I think you’re the last one I want to take advice from!” 

“That’s not true! I love you. I’m completely and utterly in love with you!” Jemma practically shouts. He freezes completely, jaw going slack as he stares at her. “Please don’t get married.” 

“Now? You–you’re saying this now?” 

“This may be my only chance.” 

“You just don’t want to get replaced,” Fitz says numbly. He collapses onto the chair behind him. “You don’t mean it.” 

“Of course I mean it,” she whispers, wounded. “I would never risk our friendship for petty jealousy. I’ve felt this way for such a long time. I don’t date because nobody else is you. It’s never had anything to do with work or being too busy. It’s always been about you.” 

He gulps heavily and runs his hands over his face. “You can’t…you can’t mean this. You’re…you. And I’m me.” 

“And that’s exactly why I do mean it,” she says. “So just…consider that, please. I just…you don’t even have to be with me, but you deserve to feel this way about someone. I want you to be with someone that you love as much as I love you. I want you to be with someone that you don’t ever want to be without. And I just don’t think that you feel that way about her.” 

She takes in a shaking breath, willing the tears from her eyes as he stares up at her. 

“So I’m going to go. I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

She turns to leave, tears falling freely from her cheeks as soon as she slams his door shut behind her. She makes it nearly a block before someone grabs her from behind and spins her around. 

“What–” 

“You’re the only person I never want to be without,” he gasps, chest heaving from the exertion of chasing after her. “We’ve faced everything together, you and me. When the whole world ended, you were next to me. Every bad thing, every good thing…you’ve been beside me, the whole damn time.” 

“But you were going to–” 

“Make the biggest mistake of my life,” he finishes for her. “And you wouldn’t let me do that. You’d never let me do that because you know me better than anyone, and I know you better than anyone. But somehow I missed how you feel about me. I–I buried all of this. I thought you could never–I didn’t think you would. But you do, and I can’t just let that go.” 

“Fitz–” 

“You’re my best friend in the world,” he tells her, cupping her face in his hands. “But you’re also so much more than that.” 

And then he surges forward, capturing her lips with his even as passerby jostle them and stare at the spectacle they’ve created on a public sidewalk. 

Jemma registers, somewhere in the back of her mind, that she shouldn’t kiss him back, not until he’s ended things with the anthropologist, but she’s waited twelve years for this moment and she’s not about to ruin it. 

“You’re more than that, too,” she whispers when he pulls away. He nods, brushing his nose against hers. 

“I’m going to have to talk to her,” he says hoarsely. “But after that–it’s just you and me.” 

“Just you and me.” 


	71. Second First Date

When Jemma unties the blindfold around his eyes, his jaw goes completely slack. They’re at the beach, of all places, warm salty air all around them. A blanket sits on the sand just up ahead, surrounded by little candles. 

“Our first date is a picnic on a beach under the stars? Have you swallowed a romance novel? Do I need to call a doctor?”

Jemma flinches, hand flying up to her eyebrow in a tell-tale gesture of frustration and regret. “Is this too much? I knew this was too much.” 

He rushes forward awkwardly, dress shoes buried in the sand as he places his hands on her shoulders. “No, no. Jemma, this is great.” 

“Really?” she asks nervously. “Because I…I just wanted to do something special, for us.” 

“It’s great,” he repeats. “It’s really nice. I just didn’t think that night was really…your thing anymore.” 

She shakes her head. “I don’t mind it anymore. Especially not with you.” 

Even in the dark he can see the faint blush on her cheeks. She looks away from him and he feels the need to even the score. He gestures toward the ocean. 

“I don’t mind the ocean anymore. At least not with you here.” 

She smiles softly and nods toward the blanket. “I brought sandwiches and wine.” 

“Prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella?” he asks hopefully. She laughs and nods. 

“Of course. With just a hint of homemade pesto aioli,” she says. He takes her hand and leads the way to the blanket, helping her gingerly step over the candles. She wears a comfortable sweater and jeans, but no shoes. Her hair and makeup is done, a bit more than he ordinarily sees on her. 

“I wish you had told me where we were going,” he teases. “I’m a bit overdressed.” 

“You look perfect,” she says. He meets her eyes and she immediately looks away. “Wine?” 

His eyes land on the bottle and the smile slips from his face. Jemma bites her lip as the memory of his ill-fated attempt at taking her on a would-be date settles over both of them. 

“Are you sure you…” 

She reaches for the bottle and corkscrew in the basket. “I’m exactly where I want to be.” 

“I just meant–” 

“And I’m with exactly who I want to be with,” she finishes as he attempts to talk over her. 

“Oh,” he says simply. She gives him a nervous smile and pours the wine into two plastic cups. He watches her carefully for a moment and she makes a bit of a show out of taking a sip from the cup. When she puts the cup back down, she smiles at him. 

“See? I’m fine.” 

He follows her lead, practically downing his entire cup in one go. She hides her grin at his nervousness and scoots closer to him, legs pressing against his. They sit in comfortable silence for a moment as Jemma unwraps the food, and for a fleeting moment she worries that her concern about running out of things to talk about had finally come to fruition.

But then he speaks. “Did I ever tell you how mum and I would go to the shore every summer?” 

“No, actually,” she tells him, surprised. “And here I was, thinking I had a PhD in Leo Fitz studies.” 

He chuckles and launches into the story. She listens intently, laughing at the image of a young Fitz arguing with other children about the structural integrity of their sandcastles. For a brief moment, she can imagine this very beach in the sunlight, Fitz just as he is now, explaining the best building practices to a little boy with her eyes and his curls. 

She shakes herself. She’s really jumping ahead. 

She wants to enjoy this moment, exactly as it is. The sun will rise tomorrow. It will be another day, and she will spend it by his side. 

Fitz interrupts her thoughts with a sudden exclamation. 

“Jemma, look! Shooting star!” 

She shuts her eyes and leans into him. She makes a secret wish that things will always stay this way. 


	72. Mum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma/Hunter brotp + "Why do you call Fitz's mum 'mum'?"

Jemma jumps when she notices the time. She grabs her tablet off of the counter and starts pushing buttons. “Oh! I’m going to be late!” 

“For what?” Hunter asks. “We’re all supposed to be taking it easy for the next couple of days. Director’s orders, remember?” 

“Yes well, I promised Mum we’d have a video chat,” Jemma explains. “Do I look alright?” 

Hunter shrugs. “Not my type, but sure.” 

She rolls her eyes. “She worries. I don’t want her to think I’m unwell.” 

Hunter snorts. “Don’t let her see Fitz then. He looks like a dead man walking.” 

The smile slips from Jemma’s face and she sighs heavily. “He really does, doesn’t he? That’s why I’m talking to Mum today instead. She’ll drag him home by his ear if she sees him like this.” 

Hunter furrows his brow. “Wait, what? You and Fitz aren’t…ugh, Simmons, please tell me that you and Fitz are not, in any way, related.” 

Jemma smacks his shoulder. “No! Why would you even say that?” 

“Apparently you two have got the same mum.” 

“Oh no, that’s just what I call Fitz’s mum,” Jemma shrugs. Hunter blinks. 

“Jemma, why do you call Fitz’s mother Mum?” 

Jemma freezes, head tilted to the side in thought. “You know, I’m actually not quite sure. At some point I started calling her that, back at the Academy. And Fitz calls my parents Mum and Dad as well.” 

Hunter starts laughing and Jemma crosses her arms. 

“What exactly is so funny?” 

“Sorry, sorry,” he breathes, not looking the least bit sorry. “It’s just that you two have been dating for like, ten minutes but you’ve been married for _years_.” 

She rolls her eyes. “That’s not true. Loads of people refer to each other’s parents that way.” 

“Oh yeah, Bob and I do that,” Hunter agrees. She doesn’t see the trap and walks right into it.  

“Exactly! See, you know what I’m talking about.” 

“ _Because we were married_ ,” Hunter tells her, carefully enunciating each word. She blushes pink and snatches up her tablet as it begins ringing. Hunter raises his hands up in surrender and takes his leave, smiling as Jemma answers the call. 

“Hi Mum!” she says brightly. “Your hair looks lovely!” 


	73. Teach Me To Fight (Skimmons Brotp)

Several weeks after the fallout from Maveth, Jemma finds Daisy in the gym. Jemma’s injuries have finally healed, given the clean bill of health from Bobbi, and she decides once and for all that she’s going to see this plan through. 

“Teach me to fight,” Jemma says. She’d meant to ask, politely, but all of her refined edges have been worn down from the last several months of struggles. 

Daisy spins around. “What?” 

“I want to learn how to fight,” Jemma repeats. “If I had been stronger, or faster, or–” 

“Jemma, there’s nothing you could have done,” Daisy starts. Jemma raises a hand to cut her off. 

“There was. I could have prevented Fitz from going through that portal. I could have done something, _anything_ else, instead of releasing Lash.” 

Daisy considers her carefully. “May is a better teacher.” 

“I don’t want to learn from May,” Jemma says. Daisy’s eyes widen. “Not that May isn’t amazing. But…I want to learn from you.” 

Daisy smiles softly. “It wasn’t that long ago that I was Rookie, huh?” 

Jemma shoots her a wistful grin of her own. “It really wasn’t. And I know you understand what it’s like to have no experience with this, to feel so helpless to protect the people you care about.” 

“I still remember that _vividly_ ,” Daisy snorts. “But you have to know going into this that it’s not going to fix all of your problems. There’s always going to be things you can’t protect him from.” 

Jemma appreciates that Daisy doesn’t beat around the bush but doesn’t come straight out with it, either. This is about Fitz and they both know it. She’s almost lost him too many times. She’s spent too many hours and days of her life feeling completely helpless, completely unable to protect him.

It’s been a long time since Jemma worried for her own safety. Not a second goes by that she’s not concerned with his. 

“Not if I can help it.” 

Daisy shakes her head. “You couldn’t protect him from Hydra this time, Jemma. They have an Inhuman who can move objects with his mind. Unless you suddenly developed a super power of your own that you haven’t told me about, there was no way for you to keep them from getting both of you.” 

“Still,” Jemma presses. “Once they had us, I could have gotten us out.” 

Daisy gives up, relenting with her hands thrown in the air. “God, you’re just as stubborn as he is.” 

“What?” 

“Fitz was here thirty minutes ago,” Daisy smiles wryly. “Asking me the same thing.”  

Jemma’s heart pounds painfully in her chest. “Really? I haven’t…well, I haven’t seen much of him lately, and…” 

Daisy steps forward to squeeze Jemma’s arm. “He’s still processing, I think. And he seems to want to give you space to get over what happened to Will. I told him that’s stupid, but since when do either of you listen to me?” 

Jemma huffs but doesn’t deny it. “He wanted to learn how to fight too?” 

“Yep,” Daisy confirms, popping the “p” at the end of the word. “But then Hunter showed up and stole him out from under me. They’re going to start training together tomorrow morning.” 

“Could we do that too, then?” Jemma suggests. “Mornings.” 

Daisy barks out a laugh. “Damn, Simmons. You really wanna see Fitz gettin’ all sweaty, don’t you?” 

Jemma glares. “And what’s your reason for insisting on spotting for Lincoln?” 

“Fair play,” Daisy laughs. “Alright, tomorrow morning at 6:00. Don’t be late.” 

Unsurprisingly, Jemma is waiting for her outside of her bunk when she emerges at 5:53 a.m., offering her an unappealing green smoothie. 

“It’s got kale in it,” Jemma supplies hopefully. ‘It’s very good for you. I did some research last night, and–” 

“Of course you did,” Daisy sighs in defeat. She takes a sip of the smoothie and crinkles her face. “Alright, now I’m _really_ looking forward to kicking your ass for making me drink this.” 


	74. Repeat That?

He’s explaining something, and she recognizes that it _must_ be important. After all, they’re in the middle of investigating the latest Inhuman’s powers. Mack has already named her Slingshot, and her ability to manipulate time is like nothing they’ve ever seen before. 

Mr. Curse-the-Cosmos has been incredibly interested in Slingshot. If Jemma didn’t know any better, she’d be jealous. But she still catches the way he looks at her when he thinks she’s not looking, and she’s absolutely certain he hasn’t been looking at Slingshot like that when they interview her. 

Currently, he’s rambling, waving his hands around and drawing wild diagrams on the whiteboard. She’s following absolutely none of it. 

She’s too distracted by his hands and the way his new wardrobe highlights his slim figure. His hands fall on his hips and her eyes drift to his waist–and beneath them. 

“Jemma.” 

“Huh?” she asks, shaking herself. “Yes, Fitz?” 

“What do you think?” 

She grimaces. “Um…can you repeat that?” 

He gapes at her. “All of it? You want me to repeat all of that?” 

He points his thumb back at his hastily scrawled notes and she looks them over quickly. She understands his thought process almost better than she understands her own. 

“Oh,” she says, perking up. “Oh, yes. Okay, so it’s almost like–she’s tearing through the space-time continuum, but she can only do it for so long. Then she gets yanked back.” 

“Exactly,” Fitz says, throwing his hands forward with a grin. “This is…it’s amazing. She’s an absolute marvel.” 

Jemma can’t help the way the smile slides off of her face, and it doesn’t escape Fitz’s notice. 

“Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” she brushes off. “Absolutely. fine, Fitz.” 

He licks his lips, furrowing his brow. “You don’t seem it. What did I say?” 

It’s been months since Maveth, and he still hasn’t done anything about this…thing, between them. So even though he’s still looking at her like he always has, and even though she knows, intellectually, that his interest in Slingshot is of a scientific nature, it doesn’t stop the twinge in her chest when he rambles on about the Inhuman. 

“Nothing.” 

“Jemma, talk to me.” 

He sounds frustrated, and she turns around to find him standing with a clenched jaw.

“Are you…interested, in her?” 

“Of course I am,” he responds automatically. “She’s fascinating.” 

“I mean, outside of physics.” 

“Oh,” he says, surprise playing on his features. “No. Not…I’m not interested in her like that.” 

“Good.” 

“Good?” 

She smiles, nodding shyly. “Good.” 

She’s not sure if they’re ready yet, but they’re getting there and it’s enough for her. The look in his eyes tells her that it’s enough for him, too. 


	75. Good Look

Jemma watches him put the finishing touches on his outfit. She paces nervously around him. 

“And you’re sure you remember your back story?” 

“Yes, Jemma,” he says, clearly clinging desperately to the last shreds of his patience. “Your binder was very informative.” 

“And your extraction plan?” 

“Y’know, I actually completely forgot to memorize that bit,” he teases. “Can you remind me again, how am I supposed to escape certain death?” 

“It’s not funny,” she snaps, crossing her arms and whirling on him. “Fitz, this is incredibly dangerous. Gideon Malick knows _exactly_ who you are. If he sees you, you and Hunter are both done for.”

“But I’ll be with Hunter,” he reminds her. “He won’t let anything happen to me. We’re getting in and getting right out.” 

“Don’t let him drink,” she says sternly. “I mean it. He’ll get caught up in the party and you’ll be caught for sure.” 

“Jemma, we’ve got to blend in.” 

She glares and he raises his hands in surrender.

“Fine, fine, no drinking,” he sighs. “Kill joy.” 

“I am not a kill joy!” she exclaims a bit shrilly. The sound of her own voice causes her to wince. “I’m sorry. I’m just nervous. This is the first time since before…before Hydra, that you’ve gone undercover.” 

He shakes his head with a wry smile. “Not exactly. I’ll be fine.” 

He gestures at his tux. “Does this look okay?” 

Her expression finally softens, the tension seeping out of her shoulders as she steps forward to wrap her arms around his waist. “It’s a good look for you.” 

“Is it?” 

“Mhm,” she hums. “A very good look for you. You better come back to me so I can show you just how much.” 

He smirks and leans down to kiss her. “Yes, ma’am.”  


	76. Barista AU

“Can I get a London Fog, please?” the woman asks. It’s just past 6:00 in the morning, and Fitz still hasn’t gotten used to working the morning shift before he teaches an undergraduate seminar course. 

 _The perks of being an adjunct professor_ , he thinks bitterly. 

Then he realizes he’s still holding a paper cup in his hand, sharpie at the ready, and has written nothing down. The beautiful woman in front of him blinks her doe eyes expectantly and he wonders who the hell manages to look quite that stunning this early in the morning. 

“Could you repeat that?” 

“A London Fog, please.” 

“Right, yes,” he says, shaking himself. “You sound like you’re from London.” 

“Sheffield, actually. Glasgow?” 

“Easy guess,” he smiles. “You only had a couple of cities to choose from.” 

“I had a 50/50 shot,” she laughs. “The only cities I can think of in Scotland are Edinburgh and Glasgow.” 

“That’s it?” he asks a bit mockingly. “I’m offended….” 

“Jemma,” she fills in. He scrawls it on the cup and passes it to Skye, the undergrad who works with him. “Oh! I thought of another one. Perthshire.” 

“Perthshire?” he says. “That’s one you don’t hear every day in Boston.” 

“Well, it seems to be a special sort of day,” she smiles. She looks around to make sure she isn’t holding up a line. It seems most people near the university aren’t awake at this hour, so she leans against the counter as Skye fixes her drink.

“Are you going to be prepared for class today, Skye?” 

“Jemma, you already know the answer to that,” she laughs. “Fitz, this is Jemma! She’s my TA I’ve been telling you about, the one who is woefully unprepared to be teaching Introduction to Computer Science. Jemma, this is Fitz…barista by morning, TA for physics by day.” 

Jemma huffs. “It’s not my fault that Dr. Hall messed up the TA assignments. I think I’ve been doing quite well, for a biochemist.” 

Fitz snorts. “Which I assume isn’t very well at all.” 

“Hey.” 

“You know, Fitz is actually pretty great with computers,” Skye says suddenly. She passes Jemma’s drink to Fitz and he hands it over to Jemma. “Maybe he can show you the ropes so Miles stops harassing you in class.” 

“I hate that kid,” Jemma mumbles darkly. Then her eyes widen with a gasp. “Oh Skye, please don’t tell anyone I said that.” 

“Scouts honor,” Skye grins. Then she stomps on Fitz’s foot and shoots him a look as Jemma rambles about professorial ethics.

“What are you doing this afternoon?” Fitz finally speaks, cutting her off mid-thought. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I was thinking–I can show you some basic coding, help you give them a project to work on.” 

“That would be great,” she grins. “Thank you so much.” 

“No problem.” 

Skye grumbles something under her breath along the lines of ‘utterly fucking useless’ and he steels his courage. It’s entirely too early to be making a fool out of himself but he’s hoping maybe she’ll be too tired to forget if he totally mucks this up. 

“We could…have lunch? And I could show you? I know this great place that I’d like to take you to. Reminds me of home.” 

Her smile grows even wider. “That sounds lovely. It’s a date.” 

She scrawls her phone number on a napkin and slides it to him with one last smile. Then she’s leaving the coffee shop and Skye is clapping him on the back.

“I better get an A in this class.” 


	77. Can We Pretend I Didn't Just Say That?

They watch, amused, as Daisy chases after the latest Inhuman to arrive at SHIELD. This particular powered person has already been deemed ineligible for Daisy’s team and Jemma can see her friend’s frustration bubbling under the surface. 

The little guy is only 4 years old, and his ability to become invisible makes him a true menace. 

Daisy throws her hands up with a frustrated little scream as Declan makes himself invisible once again. “Declan! Stop it!” 

Jemma laughs, quickly smothering it with her hand. Fitz bites down hard on his bottom lip to keep himself from incurring Daisy’s wrath. He kneels down and holds his arms out. 

“Declan, buddy, c’mere,” Fitz says gently. “It’s time for lunch, Rascal.” 

Declan doesn’t make himself visible, but Jemma is sure that he’s run at Fitz when he stumbles back slightly with a warm chuckle. When he stands, Declan materializes in his arms. A wave of fondness crashes over her as she watches him chatter with the toddler. 

Ever since Declan’s rather traumatic arrival on the base, Fitz had taken it upon himself to help the little boy in every way that he could. He built him a little race track and some remote control cars, read him bed time stories, and played goofy games with him in the common room. Declan, horrified by his parents turning into stone before his very eyes and being picked up by a group of armed agents, had clung desperately to Fitz in the weeks since. 

Jemma isn’t completely surprised that he’s such a natural with children. He’d always been good with her little cousins during the holidays. She just wasn’t prepared for the way that her heart would react to seeing him with little Declan. 

Jemma joins them in the kitchen. “A word to the wise, Declan. Never let Fitz cook your food.” 

The little boy giggles. “Can I have a grill cheese?” 

“Of course you can,” Jemma smiles. She busies herself with gathering the supplies while Fitz asks Declan about his day so far. 

“And then Hunter tripped on me and fell on the floor, it was so funny,” Declan explains excitedly. Fitz bites back a laugh. 

“Now, Declan, you’ve got to be careful. I know your powers are very cool but you don’t want anyone to get hurt.” 

Declan looks properly abashed. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

Fitz pats his little hand. “How about we play a prank on him, though? Make him think there’s a ghost in his closet.” 

Declan nods enthusiastically. “Yes! That’ll be so fun.” 

“Play nice, you two,” Jemma admonishes lightly. Declan grins at her and shoots her a thumbs up. She slides the sandwich in front of him and he chirps a ‘thank you, Jemma!’ that has her grinning all over again. 

“You’re going to be a really good mum,” Fitz says suddenly. “When we get around to that.” 

Jemma blinks at him, surprised. She must take too long in formulating a response because he flushes bright red.

“I mean…uh, I just meant that…can we pretend I didn’t just say that?” 

“No,” Jemma breathes. “Because I was thinking the same thing about you.” 

“You think I’ll be a good mum?” he teases with a cheeky smile. She rolls her eyes and kisses him lightly, ignoring Declan’s shriek of disgust. 

“When we get around to it.” 


	78. Philinda + Birthday Breakfast

In all the years he’s known her, he’s never managed to actually surprise Melinda May. But that doesn’t stop Coulson from continually trying. After all, he’s the only one on the base who knows her birthday, and he’s quite possibly the only person alive who knows how much she actually _enjoys_ it. 

He’d learned, back at the Academy (in the days when he was idealistic and she was the best combination of sunny and brave), that her parents had made her a special dim sum breakfast each year, decorating the sweet and savory dumplings like little animals. It had always been her favorite thing about her birthday, she’d told him, nineteen years old and a little bit giggly from the beers they’d smuggled in to student housing. 

And this year, this particular year, has been incredibly hard on her–on both of them, really–so he really wants to make today special. He wants her to remember that each year is a celebration, even the years that hurt on all sides. 

Phil Coulson is an excellent chef, but he’d never quite managed to nail down presentation.

He curses under his breath as he consults the photo on his tablet of a dumpling decorated to look like a panda. The steaming food in front of him looks like a terrifying army of melted penguins. 

“Phil?” she asks, obviously surprised. He looks at the clock, surprised to find that it’s already 5:30 a.m. 

“I see you let yourself sleep in on your birthday,” he teases, stepping in front of his creation to hide the horrifying image of the dumplings. 

She narrows her eyes. “What are you hiding? And why does it smell like dumplings in here?” 

He grimaces. “You told me a long time ago about your birthday breakfast…” 

He steps aside sheepishly, allowing her to look at the sad excuse for dim sum sitting on the counter. 

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” he says wryly. 

May takes a step closer and leans down to get a better look at them. To his surprise, she laughs–loudly and suddenly–and he nearly jumps at the sound. 

“Oh Phil. It’s…perfect. Thank you.” 

She looks behind her to make sure that none of the other agents are awake before she pulls him in to a tender hug, one hand on the back of his head. 

“Happy birthday, Melinda.” 

“Thank you.” 


	79. Hogwarts AU + Thunderstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: we’re both in gryffindor/ravenclaw tower and everyone is asleep except us, but it’s thunderstorming and i never noticed how loud thunder is up in this tower, haha, i’m a little freaked out, but no i’m fine you go to sleep it’s okay.

It’s technically against the rules, that he brings Jemma here so often, but she’s Head Girl and he’s Head Boy so nobody really cares much. Jemma’s own housemates are often rather cruel to her, and most of her friends are Hufflepuffs or Gryffindors. She loves to spend time in Gryffindor tower, and he loves having her there with him. 

Tonight, there’s a storm, and somehow in his seven years at Hogwarts he’s never actually noticed that the windows in the Tower shake and rattle each time the thunder booms outside. 

He jumps and Jemma giggles. “Are you afraid of thunder, Fitz? I never knew that about you.” 

“I’m not afraid,” he says immediately. “Which one of us is a Gryffindor again, huh?” 

She rolls her eyes. “I told you a million times, I could have been a Gryffindor. I was a hatstall. I chose to be a Ravenclaw.” 

He clucks his tongue. “You’re horribly boring, Simmons, you know that?” 

She glares at him. “And which one of us taught the other how to get into the kitchens?” 

He grins at her. “Alright, alright. Good point.” 

She shuts her book and stands. “I really ought to head back to my common room. It’s gotten late.” 

“No!” he practically shouts. Her eyebrows shoot up and she freezes. 

“Something wrong, Fitz?” 

“Uh, no. Nothing at all. I’m…perfectly fine here. I love all the shaking that the Tower is doing, it’s my favorite.” 

Jemma smirks and sits back down. “Fitz, do you want me to stay?” 

He looks up at her shyly, scratching behind one ear in a gesture that she’s always thought was inordinately adorable. “I…wouldn’t complain.” 

She laughs and moves to sit on the overstuffed couch near the fire. She pats it and conjures up two cups of tea. 

“You’re such a show off,” he teases as he collapses beside her. She bumps his knee with hers and he sips at the tea, humming contentedly. “God, that’s good.” 

“I know,” she smiles cheekily. The thunder booms once more, louder than it has all night. He sets down his teacup with shaking hands and Jemma follows his lead. “Come here.” 

She pats her lap and he eyes her wearily before giving in and laying his head on the top of her thighs. Her hand runs through his hair and he feels himself relaxing. 

The next time the thunder shakes the windows, he doesn’t even move. Jemma grins into the fire, fingers never stilling.


	80. Give Me A Hand (Hollywood AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a prequel scene to the Hollywood AU, based on that gif I’ve seen floating around of Iain helping Liz off of a stage at Comic Con or something:

The press tour has been completely exhausting. They’ve been to six countries and nine cities in just two weeks. They’ve been constantly photographed and interviewed, so they can’t even let themselves relax. If it weren’t for a dedicated team of handlers primping and prodding them, Jemma is sure that they would both look half-dead. 

“Last question,” Phil announces to the press gathered in front of the long table. Jemma perks up and Fitz leans against the table eagerly. 

They’re in New York now and as soon as this is over, they get to go home. Finally, finally home. They’ve been doing press for the Sun Rises for what feels like forever, and Jemma can’t wait to get her dog back from Antoine Triplett. She hasn’t had Widget for very long, but she already feels a bit of separation anxiety from not having her near. 

“What’s the best part about working together for so long?” the last journalist asks. They look at each other in tandem with nearly identical matching expressions.

“I’m going to let him go first so I don’t get in trouble,” Jemma teases with a smile. Fitz laughs and leans closer to the mic, still looking over at Jemma. 

“I think the best part is just being so in sync? I swear sometimes I think she reads my mind. So working together is incredibly organic and simple. She’s so easy to work with…she makes me look good just being next to her.” 

Jemma bats at him teasingly. “Stop it, you’re making me blush. But I would second that, I mean…after all these years, he’s my best friend in the world and I can’t imagine my life without him. Working together is great because it’s getting to spend all of your time with your best friend, basically playing pretend for 12 hours a day. You can’t beat that, can you?” 

Phil concludes the press session and they finally get to leave the stage. Cameras continue to flash and Fitz hops off of the side with ease.

“Give me a hand?” Jemma asks. She gestures down at her too-high heels and Fitz rolls his eyes.

“What have I told you about these bloody shoes?” 

“I like them!” she defends for what feels like the thousandth time. “But I’d really rather not break my ankle.” 

“Ridiculous they didn’t give you steps,” he grumbles, reaching out a hand to her. She takes it and maneuvers her body so she won’t flash anyone with her short dress. With a little hop, she lands a little squirelly and he balances her. “I’ve got ya.” 

“You always do,” she grins. 

“Let’s go home, Jemma.” 


	81. No Big Deal

“Don’t,” Fitz says warningly. “Jemma, don’t make it into a big deal.” 

“Don’t make it into a big deal?” she repeats incredulously. “Fitz, you bought me a _house_.” 

He scratches behind one ear and looks away from her. “It’s small. Hardly a cottage, actually, and I just thought–with everything going on–you might want somewhere to escape to. It’s–it’s not meant to _mean_ anything.” 

She swallows and crosses her arms. “And what if I want it to mean something?” 

“Jemma…” 

“Enough with the kid gloves, Fitz,” she says firmly. “The only way that I’m going anywhere at all is with you.” 

“Just because I bought it doesn’t mean–” 

She rolls her eyes and steps closer to him. “Ugh, Fitz! I’m saying that I don’t want to be without you. I want to do more than just watch the sun rise.” 

He tilts his head to the side. “Are you saying…?” 

“I’m saying that we love each other and I want us to do something about it,” Jemma declares, voice wavering slightly on the words in her nervousness. She intends to sound much more confident, but she’s also making a sweeping declaration about his feelings for her that she’s not completely sure is still valid. “At least…at least, I love you. And I want to do something about it.” 

“You…you do?” 

“Yes, to both. I do love you, and I do want to do something about it.” 

He exhales, breath shaky. “I do too.” 

“Still?” 

“Still,” he nods. She closes the last bit of distance between them, pressing her lips to his in a sweet kiss. It’s only after she pulls away that she realizes he’s leaning against the same lab bench he’d pushed her against nearly two months ago. She giggles into his neck and he doesn’t even have to ask–he notices at the same time she does, his laughter reverberating through her body. 

The next morning, they both submit a Request for Temporary Leave. 


	82. Mind Controlled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A post-3x10 ficlet, in which Fitz somehow gets mind-controlled by It.
> 
> Written before we knew Hive

“You want me to do _what_?” she gasps. He opens his mouth to answer but she’s already trudging forward with her insistent denial. “No. No, Fitz. Absolutely not.” 

“Jemma, it’s the only way!” 

“It is _not_ the only way,” she says fiercely. “There’s always another solution. We have to fix this.” 

“I don’t know _how_ ,” he practically growls back, and suddenly she is flung back to the glass walls of their lab on the Bus, when their roles were reversed. “Whatever this is, whatever it did to me–I can’t control it. I can’t fix it.” 

“I’m not going to kill you,” she gets out through a dry sob. Her hand goes up to touch the partition between them and it shocks her hand, causing her to pull back with tears building in her eyes. It’s so strange, to see him in Vault D–Grant Ward’s former home, after Grant Ward’s former body has warped his mind.

“I almost killed you,” he rasps. “If Bobbi hadn’t been there–” 

“You wouldn’t have done it,” she says firmly. “I know you wouldn’t have, I was getting through to you, Fitz.” 

“There’s no way to tell when it’s coming on,” he says quietly, collapsing on the floor on the other side of the barrier. “One second I’m fine, the next I’m–I’m murderous. I can’t be trusted to develop weapons, Jemma. I can’t do my job. I can’t be here, at SHIELD, and if I go out into the world, I don’t even–imagine what would happen.” 

“That’s enough,” she says sharply. “We’re going to fix this, together. I just need to get in there and run some more tests. Perhaps an implant of some kind, to monitor your brain activity and we can see what they look like when the rampage sets in.” 

He drops his face into his hands for a moment and rubs harshly at his eyes. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” 

“No,” she says simply. “I’ve already asked Coulson to move a bed for me down here. I’ll bring you some drafting materials and you’ll have to let me know what else you need. You’ll have to build the implant yourself, I’m afraid that’s a bit out of my paygrade.” 

He nods, staring at her gratefully. “Okay. Alright, we can try.” 

“We’ll fix it,” she says again. “He’s not taking you away from me.” 


	83. Quarantine

When the containment pod lands at the Playground, Jemma is the first one racing forward. She snaps on a pair of gloves and scans herself in immediately, stopping as the doors shut behind her and she captures his attention.

He’s sitting on the couch, head in his hands, and he looks up at her with unadulterated fear in his eyes. 

“Everything’s going to be fine,” she says soothingly. “We’ll run some tests, make sure you haven’t been affected in any way.” 

“It…it did something to me,” he croaks. “I can feel it.” 

“Whatever it is, we’ll fix it,” she assures him. She kneels down in front of him and places her hands on his knees. “I promise you, Fitz. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” 

He tells her about the O84, a set-up by Hydra designed to look like a weapon. Fitz had been sent to disarm it, but as soon as he’d arrived he’d sensed that something was off. It was practically a dead ringer for the Overkill device he’d disabled in Ossetia with Ward. Now that Hydra had an Inhuman occupying the traitor’s body, Ward’s memories at It’s disposal, Fitz had been tricked. For what purpose, he’s unsure. 

“How are you feeling?” she asks. “What are your symptoms?” 

“It knocked me out and when I woke up I couldn’t stop shaking. My head is pounding, I’m freezing cold, and my heart is beating really slow.” 

Squashing her own panic, she grabs a stethoscope from her bag and attaches it to her ears, pressing the disk on the end to his heart. She holds her breath as she counts his heartrate. 

“Your heartrate is low,” she frets. “I’m going to need to give you something to pick that up.” 

She takes his temperature, finding him to be a scalding 103 degrees. Jemma does her best to keep her face neutral, not wanting to panic him anymore than he already is. 

“Am I going to be okay?” he asks, voice small. It throws her back to the days after he’d woken, when he’d stuttered his way through a similar question. 

Just as she did then, she nods briskly. “Of course you are. I’ll make sure of that.” 

She gives him epinepherin to jumpstart his heartrate and doses him with tylenol to quell the fever. Hooking him up to an IV with fluids, she eases him into bed as he shakes and shudders. It breaks her heart to see him this way and it raises every alarm in her system that she could possibly lose him to something that isn’t a gun or a traitorous Hydra agent. 

Eventually he falls into a restless sleep and she can’t help it. She peels off her gloves and sits beside him, combing her fingers through his hair and murmuring words of comfort to him. 

When he wakes, he starts at her bare skin against his. “Jemma, no! What if I’m contagious.” 

“Couldn’t keep my hands off you, could I?” she says, giving him a watery smile. “You’ll be fine. So will I.” 


	84. FitzHunter Brotp + Favors

He realizes too late that Hunter probably wasn’t the best choice for distracting Jemma for an entire day so that Fitz could set up a Valentine’s Day surprise for her. Their second-first date was only four days before, but he still felt strange doing nothing for her. 

Bobbi was busy gathering intel on Lash’s whereabouts, and Daisy was running around with Joey, Lincoln, and Mack attempting to wrangle a few new Inhumans onto their team. 

“Here’s the plan,” Hunter says with a clap. “I’m taking Simmons with me to investigate a Lash crime scene. Then I’ll take her to lunch–it’s near this bar I used to go to with Bob, she’ll love it.” 

“I need her gone until at least 3:00,” Fitz reminds him. 

“Got it. And when does she needs to be back?” 

“No later than 5:00.” 

“Between 3 and 5,” Hunter confirms. He raps his knuckles against the lab bench and grins. “Got it.” 

Jemma appears suddenly in the doorway, bright-eyed and bushy tailed. She shoots Fitz a shy smile and he awkwardly fumbles to hide the gift he’s working on. 

“Hi Hunter! Ready to go? May said wheels up in five.” 

“Off we go, love.” 

Hunter leads her away, Jemma turning to give Fitz once last grin over her shoulder. It takes him a couple of long moments to focus his attention back on the matter at hand. 

*** 

By 5:15, Fitz is pacing around in the garage, waiting for the SUV to arrive. He should have known that Hunter would be late. He’d have been better off asking Coulson to assign Jemma some sort of job out of the lab for the day. 

At 5:30, the SUV peels into the garage and comes to a stop dangerously close to Fitz’s legs. Jemma comes stumbling out of the front seat, looking all the worse for wear. She’s covered in dirt, hair an utter disaster. “Fitz!” 

“Oh god,” he mumbles. “Hey, Jemma.” 

She throws her arms around his neck and leans heavily into him just as Hunter walks around the front of the car. “Sorry we’re late.” 

“Oh, is that the only thing you’re sorry for?” Fitz says acerbically. Jemma looks up with wide brown eyes. “Last time I ask you for a favor.” 

“Did you have something to do with this?” she asks, eyes narrowed. “He _left me_ in a field.” 

Fitz opens and closes his mouth in shock. “No, that was not the plan.” 

“After the bar I couldn’t think of what to do with her,” Hunter grimaces. “Consider it like hide and seek.” 

Jemma glares at him and sighs heavily. “I just can’t wait to take a shower and go to bed.” 

Fitz looks away from her, unable to hide the disappointment on his face. “Ah, right. Yeah, you should go ahead and do that.” 

Jemma frowns. “What’s wrong?” 

“I just–I had something planned, hence your day with Hunter. But you look exhausted and you should get some rest.” 

“No, no!” Jemma insists quickly. “Just let me wash up and we’ll go ahead with the plan.” 

“Are you sure?” 

She beams at him and nods. “Of course. It’s our first Valentine’s Day together.” 

She shoots a glance at Hunter and smirks slightly. 

“At least it was memorable.” 


	85. Need This

They’ve been sleeping in the same bed ever since his return from Maveth. She’d been terrified to sleep without him. He’d come back to her, sure, but it had been too close a call for her liking. Between her crippling guilt about Will’s death and her anxiety over losing him too, she’d clung to Fitz even tighter than she had before. 

And that’s why she’s so surprised to find him heading into his own bunk at 10:30 p.m., instead of hers where’d been sleeping. 

“Fitz?” she asks, hating herself for the way her voice cracks. He looks up guiltily. 

“I…I think I’m gonna sleep on my own tonight,” he winces. 

“But why?” 

He swallows and shakes his head. “It’s…I need this, Jemma. Please.” 

And then it hits her, what she’s done to him, what she’s asked him to do for her. She’d thought her days of pushing him too far had ended with Will’s death, but it’s only grown worse. 

She’s still hurting him and he’s still willing to torture himself for her benefit. It twists her gut and she blinks back her tears. 

“Yes. Yes, of course. I’m so sorry.” 

She spins around and walks as quickly as she can to her own room. She swings open the door and collapses onto her bed, pressing her face into the pillows to stifle the onslaught of sobs that overcome her. One of the pillows smells like his shampoo, a familiar pine-like scent that sets her off even more. 

When she finally calms, she rolls onto her back and stares at her dark ceiling, unable to find rest. How could she be so selfish? She needs him, sure, but he needs to not be around her. Just like the days after the Pod, she wants to be around him so badly but her presence is only going to cause him pain. 

She’s not sure how long she lays there, stewing in her guilt and rising self-hatred. When she finally looks at the clock, it’s nearly three o’clock in the morning. 

But then the door to her room opens slowly, and Fitz appears at the side of her bed. 

“Fitz?” 

His hands are shaking, hair disheveled, and she immediately sits up. 

“I…I didn’t want to wake you,” he admits quietly. “I’ve been having some really bad nightmares and I didn’t want to make things worse for you.” 

“Oh, Fitz,” she sighs. She lifts the blankets invitingly and Fitz slides in beside her. “I thought…I thought you were upset with me. That I was making things worse for you.” 

He shakes his head vehemently. “No. Never.” 

His arm snakes beneath her neck and she turns to curl into him. 

“I need this,” she whispers into his neck. “I need you.” 

“I need you too.” 

“Good,” Jemma smiles. She kisses his jaw and nuzzles it lightly. “I guess we’ll need each other.” 


	86. Huntingbird + Magic Words

As soon as the front door opens, Hunter collapses onto the couch, face down. He groans loudly into the cushions and Bobbi crosses her arms with raised brows.

“Tough day?” 

“Owning a bar is supposed to be fun.” 

“I don’t think anyone has ever said that,” Bobbi teases. He raises his head to look at her. 

“What are you doing up? It’s half past three.” 

She shrugs with a little smile. “I wanted to wait up for you.” 

“Aw, Bob,” he coos. “You’ve gone soft.” 

She shakes her head and narrows her eyes. “Once a hell beast, always a hell beast.” 

With typical Bobbi dexterity and speed, she manages to end up on the couch, straddling his back, before he even notices she’s moved.

“Goddamn super spy,” he grumbles. “What exactly are you planning to do back there?” 

“I was _thinking_ I might give you a massage, Mr. Business Owner.” 

“You’re a gem.” 

“You forgot to say the magic word,” she teases.

“Pleeeeease,” he whines. She laughs and crawls backward, tapping his back. 

“Shirt off.” 

He pulls it off and flops back onto his stomach, groaning as Bobbi begins rubbing his shoulders. “I forgot how good you are at this.” 

Bobbi laughs. “Undercover as a masseuse for six months, remember?” 

“I might miss you being a spy, love.” 

She snorts. “Oh, you will not. I think you’re pretty glad nobody is shooting at me now.” 

“And you’d rather people be shooting at me.” 

Bobbi pushes up onto her knees and flips him over onto his back. He rolls his eyes at her tactics and she leans forward, blonde hair creating a curtain around him. 

“For the record, I’m really happy nobody is shooting at you anymore. It’s…really nice not to have to ask you not to die when you go to your job.” 

He tugs her down and kisses her, hand running through her hair. He pulls away slowly and brushes his nose against hers. 

“Me too, love.” 

“Now let’s christen this living room,” Bobbi grins wickedly.

“ _Those_ are some magic words.” 


	87. Philinda + Protocol

This is not what he does. Phil Coulson has always followed the rules and the protocols. At least, he has since he became Director of SHIELD. After all, he has an image to maintain. If he’s not a role model for his agents, then he doesn’t have any grounds for disciplining them. 

Admittedly, he’d read a parenting book for tips on this point. 

Regardless, all of the protocols and the rules fly out of the window when he gets the harried and panicked call from Daisy. 

“He has her,” his agent gasps out. “Andrew–Lash–got May.” 

“What do you mean he got her?” 

“He took her!” Daisy exclaims, voice rising with her fear. “He knocked her out, threw her over his damn shoulder, and lumbered off to whatever lair he’s living in!” 

Coulson grits his teeth. “Get back here ASAP. We’ll strategize what to do next.” 

*** 

It turns out that Lash’s quasi-headquarters are nearly impenetrable. It’s practically a suicide mission and he refuses to take any of his agents with him. He leaves Mack in charge once again. Mack did well last time that he served as interim Director, and he knows that Mack is the only one who can stop Daisy from coming after him and May. 

It’s all completely wrong. He’s going off-book, throwing out all of the rules because she’s _Melinda_ and he knows, now, after all of this time, that he simply cannot live without her. 

So when he comes bursting through the doors of Lash’s hide out and finds her handcuffed to a pipe in a corner, something in him snaps. He briefly thinks that he could kill Lash with his bare hand–and his robot one, of course–for doing this to her. 

She’s bruised and bleeding and afraid, and he hasn’t truly seen her like this since those horrible days after Bahrain. 

“Phil,” she gasps out. “What are you…?” 

“We’re going home,” he says decisively. He breaks the chains with one hard clench of his prosthetic hand and lifts her off of the ground. She’s weak and injured, leaning heavily on him as he leads her to the quinjet in the field outside. 

“You flew?” she asks weakly. “You’re not authorized to fly.” 

He shakes his head sharply and lays her across the seats of the plane. He brushes her hair out of her face, grimacing as pieces of it stick to the blood on her temple. She blinks, disoriented, watching him.

“You’re alone.” 

“I am.” 

“And you flew.” 

“I did.” 

“You went against every protocol for me?” 

“Of course I did.” 

He lets Mack stay interim Director for the first week of May’s recovery. He doesn’t leave her side. She doesn’t say much but her eyes hardly ever leave his face. 

For now, it’s enough for him that she’s alive. For now, it’s enough for her that he’s here. 


	88. Pretending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon divergent from 1x22. Fitz never told Jemma how he felt about her in the Pod, he just forced the breath on her when he blew out the window:

Fitz and Simmons. FitzSimmons. They’d been two halves of a whole for her entire adult life and then he’s gone ahead and tried to sacrifice his life for hers. Not for the first time, mind you. She knows she’ll never forget the way her heart stopped as he broke into containment, Chitauri helmet locked away in a crate in his outstretched arms. Or the way he’d looked when she’d turned for one last glance, screaming and begging her not to jump…

She shakes herself, her own scream echoing in her mind. It’s been four months since he woke up from his coma, now, and in helping him rediscover himself and his place within SHIELD, she’s discovered something exhilirating and terrifying. 

She’s in love with him. 

She probably loved him before. For the first two months after his noble and infuriatingly selfless sacrifice, she’d had to ask herself over and over again if these feelings were genuine or just a by-product of shock from the entire ordeal. 

But then she’d started to take notice of his smile and his laugh and even the way a little muscle in his jaw would twitch every time his hand shook and she realized that she is, without a double, in love with him and all of his little things. 

Unfortunately for Jemma, he’s clung to Skye in his recovery period despite her repeated attempts to insert herself more fully in the process. He humors her, sometimes; other times, he lashes out when she attempts to join his and Skye’s little exercises. It leaves her wounded and jealous, angry and frustrated. 

His hand shakes worse when she’s near, his stutter growing more pronounced, and she knows, deep down inside of her, that he blames her for this. She just wishes that he could love himself this way the same way that she does, the same way that she loved him before. 

It’s after one of these explosions that she hides herself away in her bunk and finally lets herself cry. Perhaps she should take the assignment, the one that Coulson had presented to her just that morning. Undercover in Hydra’s science division is terrifying but it’s important work and if she’s of no use here, she might as well be doing _something._

With a manic kind of energy and an occasional sob, she pulls out a bag and begins throwing items inside of it. In her haste she doesn’t notice the knock on the door, or that it slides open without her consent until Fitz is standing inside, mouth opening and closing.

“What…what are you doing?” 

She whips around and wipes furiously at her face. “I’m thinking about leaving.” 

He looks stricken, gulping loudly and shaking out his trembling hand. “But uh…but why?” 

“I can’t do this anymore,” Jemma says, voice cracking on the words. “I can’t keep pretending.” 

Fitz’s brow furrows and his eyes darken with anger. “Can’t keep…keep pretending I’m the same, huh?” 

“What?” she gasps. “Fitz, that’s not–I can’t keep pretending like it isn’t killing me that you hate me for this.” 

She gestures at his hand. 

“You hate me for all of this and I’ve got all of these feelings for you, and–” 

“Feel–um…” 

He trails off, snapping his fingers at her impatiently with a new kind of desperation on his features.

“Feelings, yes,” she snaps impatiently. “Which not only do you not return but you detest me, it’s worse than those early days back at the Academy.” 

Fitz licks his lips and shakes his head furiously. “Jemma, no.” 

It’s the first time he’s called her by her first name since Ward dropped them out of the sky and it freezes her rambling.

“Why d’you think I…I did what I did?” 

“Because I’m your best friend.” 

“Because you’re…you’re more than that,” he says, exhaling shakily. She inhales sharply and steps closer to him.

“Really?” 

He runs his good hand over his face and nods. “I’m…I’m so sorry. I didn’t…it’s been…” 

“Take your time,” she tells him softly. She reaches onto her bed and tosses the duffle bag onto the floor. “I’m not going anywhere. We have time.” 

He smiles, lopsided and grateful, and feeling particularly confident with euphoria rushing through her blood, she moves forward quickly and kisses him softly on the lips. 

When she pulls back, his mouth moves silently for a long moment. 

“Dinner,” he says. “I want to…you and me…someplace nice.” 

“Yes.” 


	89. Patching Up

“This is really more your area,” Fitz winces apologetically. “Are you sure you don’t want me to get Bobbi?” 

“No, Fitz,” Jemma says, smiling softly. “You’re doing just fine.” 

Even with his bad hand trembling against her ribs, he really is doing a good job. Regardless, she’s infinitely glad that he’s using surgical glue instead of attempting stitches. 

“How are those meds working?” he fusses. “Are you sure you told me to give you enough?” 

“I’m sure,” she laughs. “I can hardly feel my body, so I think they’re doing their job.” 

“Good,” he mumbles, leaning closer to focus on the wound on her side. “Alright, you’re all glued up. What do I cover it with?” 

“Just some gauze and tape will do,” Jemma instructs him. As he rips through the gauze packaging, she notices how much both of his hands are shaking. “Fitz? Are you okay?” 

“Yes.” 

“You’re not,” she observes. “What happened? Are you hurt?” 

“No,” he says. “You made sure of that, didn’t you?” 

“And why do you sound angry about it?” she fires back. “My plan worked.” 

“Your plan got you shot,” he says angrily. He slams the gauze down on the table and shakes out his hands. “You can’t–I’m not–I’m not worth that, Jemma.” 

“It’s just a graze,” she tells him softly. “Fitz, please. Come here.” 

She reaches out one hand and he takes several deep breaths before he approaches. She grasps onto his hand and squeezes it lightly. “I don’t care that it’s just a graze. You got hurt, trying to protect me, and–” 

“And now you see how I’ve felt,” she laughs dryly. 

“That’s not the point.” 

“Maybe it is,” she shrugs. She grimaces at the movement and he reaches up to stroke her hair soothingly. “Why do you do those things for me? Giving me the last breath, jumping through a hole in the universe?” 

“You know why.” 

“And why do you think I jumped in front of you?” 

“Because you feel like you owe me,” he admits quietly, attempting to wrench his hand away form hers. She doesn’t let him, though. 

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Jemma says. She tugs him closer and places her free hand on his cheek. “Fitz, I did what I did for the same reasons you always do. You’re the most precious thing in the world to me. I don’t want to find out what living without you would be like.” 

“You did it before,” he mutters darkly. 

“And it was horrible,” she whispers, voice cracking. “It was hell. And I never want to live that way again. I can’t do it again. Please believe me.” 

He swallows hard and nods, bending forward to kiss her forehead. “You need to get some rest.” 

“Stay?” 

“Of course.” 


	90. Reading

Jemma curls into his side, nudging up underneath his elbow. Fitz chuckles and readjusts his book accordingly. 

“You’re like a cat.” 

“I’m tired,” she grumbles against his t-shirt. “Turn out the light, let’s sleep.” 

“Just a minute,” he says apologetically. One hand reaches up to brush against her hair. “I’m at a really good part.” 

She huffs but he can tell there’s no heat to it. They’d had a long day–Jemma had gone to investigate a new Inhuman with Daisy and Mack, while he and Bobbi had been running CSI from the base. He’s grown quite accustomed to grumpy tired Jemma in the ten years he’s known her. Sharing a bed with her every night doesn’t make much of a difference. 

“Better than sleep?” 

He laughs. “Believe it or not, yeah.” 

“Read it to me,” she murmurs. “I like your voice.” 

“I’ll remind you of that next time you ‘oh, Fitz’ me,” he teases. She opens her mouth and he grins. “You were gonna do it just then, weren’t you?” 

“Shush.” 

“I thought you like my voice.” 

“Read to me,” she demands. He can feel her grinning against his chest and he leans his cheek down, craning his neck to rest on her head. 

“There won’t be any context,” he reasons. She shakes her head. 

“I don’t care.” 

“Alright,” he sighs. He clears his throat and begins reading. “I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.”

“That reminds me of you,” she interrupts. He glares down at her. 

“I thought you were going to let me read.” 

“I am!” she exclaims. “I’m just saying–it’s like you. You’re always the hero. And you don’t need to be shooting at people to do it. You’re the bravest person I know.” 

He tosses the book aside and slides down to lay beside her, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. She shuts her eyes, content, and kisses him softly. 

“I’m not half as brave as you,” he tells her. She makes a noise of protest. 

“Nuh-uh.” 

He clicks off the light. “Get some sleep. I’ll finish it in the morning.” 

“Sweet dreams, Fitz.” 


	91. Accidentally Falling Asleep Together (Season 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> S2 canon divergent; Jemma doesn’t stay behind in Puerto Rico. She catches the quinjet home with the rest of the team

The flight back from Puerto Rico is long and quiet. Most everyone is exhausted, already half-asleep in their seats. Skye sits off to the side, head in her hands, and nobody bothers her. The loss of Trip is difficult for all of them, but it seems to be particularly hard on her. 

Jemma feels numb. The fact that Trip is dead, gone forever, hasn’t settled quite right in her head. She supposes that it will begin to feel real in a matter of days. She won’t be able to convince herself that he’s out on a mission for much longer. 

The only comfort in the tension is that Fitz sits beside her, closer than he’s been since before she left for her mission in Hydra. Despite everything, all of the horrors of the day, there’s a small glimmer of hope growing inside of her. She and Fitz had clicked back into place in that temple, at least temporarily. For once, he hadn’t been angry when she’d finished his sentences. They finally seemed to be on the same wave length. 

And when the walls had started crumbling around them, he’d grabbed onto her and held her to him, as though he could protect her from the sky falling. 

It was the most physical contact she’d had with him since she hugged him and kissed his face in the Pod, and her skin still burns with it. 

“Are you alright?” he asks quietly. She startles and looks over at him with a weak smile.

“As good as I can be, I suppose.” 

He grimaces and nods, looking away from her. “Yeah. I uh–I’m so sorry about Trip.” 

She frowns. “I am too. We’ve all–we’ve all lost a really good friend.” 

His bad hand twitches. “I just thought that–well, I thought you two were–” 

“Oh,” Jemma says. “No, not…we were never…I wasn’t interested in him like that. He was an amazing person but not…I wasn’t…” 

She huffs in frustration and runs a hand over her face. He nudges her foot with his. 

“Now you see how…how I feel all the time.” 

To her surprise, she barks out a light laugh, careful not to disturb the sleeping and grieving agents around them. Ordinarily she would chastise him for the joke, but it’s his injury to poke fun at and she won’t try to deprive him of that. “I suppose I’m just tired.” 

He bites his lip and jerks his head slightly. “You can uh–you can rest. If you want.” 

The little glimmer of hope flares into something uncontrollable and she doesn’t think twice before she lays her head on his shoulder. “I won’t be able to fall asleep,” she warns him. She feels the scruff of his cheek rest against her scalp and the ends of her lips quirk upward. 

“Me either,” he sighs. “But we can rest.” 

She scoots a bit closer, her hip against his and their thighs in a perfect line. One of her hands falls over his leg and he slowly moves to rest his hand on top of hers, drawing little circles with his thumb. They fall silent and she breathes him in, drawing comfort from his usual gesture of affection. She feels his ministrations slow as she drifts into sleep.

May shakes them awake some hours later, eyes softer than Jemma has ever seen them. “Simmons,” she whispers. “We’re back.” 

May turns and leaves the quinjet, leaving them as the last two on board. Jemma swallows down her disappointment, preparing for everything to go back to the way it was–to awkward silence and avoiding contact. But then Fitz stirs and doesn’t draw away from her. They gather themselves and shuffle off of the plane, and as they step into the hallway, his hand finds her lower back on instinct. 

For a split second, she imagines Trip in one of the doorways, flashing her a grin and a little wink. 


	92. First Date With Lola

Jemma smiles nervously, tucking her hair behind her ears as she stands in her doorway. Fitz’s eyes drift over her, wide and blue and perfect. She’d opted for wearing a dress after all, despite her earlier misgivings about it. Based on the response she’s received, Jemma decides it must have been the right choice.

But then his jaw drops and he’s suddenly kneeling in front of her and yanking her ankle onto his shoulder.

“Fitz!” she shrieks, grabbing on to the door frame for balance. “What the hell are you doing?!” 

One hand reaches between the legs to squeeze her dress tightly between her thighs, twisting awkwardly.

“You’re hurt!” he gasps. “Jemma, what happened?” 

Her face burns red as she gazes down at the dried blood running down her calf. Somehow she completely missed it. “Damn, I nicked myself shaving.”

His brow furrows and he looks up at her from his place on the floor. “Why?”

“Oh my god,” she mumbles under her breath. 

“Wow, FitzSimmons, please get a room,” Daisy teases as she walks by, eyebrows waggling. 

Jemma whimpers pitifully and yanks her ankle out of his grasp, dropping it from his shoulder and firmly planting her foot on the ground. “I’m just going to go–wash up.”

“I’ll help?” he offers. She smiles affectionately with a shake of her head. 

“I don’t think that’s necessary. I’ll be out in just a second.” 

She races into her little en suite and rinses the blood from her leg, shaking out her hands after she’s dried them. The second go-around at a first date is _not_ going as well as she’d hoped, despite the initially promising start. Taking a deep breath, she walks back out into the hallway.

“Shall we?” she asks. He nods excitedly and holds out her jacket. She’s not sure when he even got it, or how he selected one that would perfectly match her dress–

“Bobbi snagged this earlier,” he explains, apparently reading her mind. “When I told her where we would be going, she said I should bring your jacket so–” 

“She broke into my bunk,” Jemma finishes. “Like any good spy friend would, I suppose.” 

Fitz pauses and then awkwardly holds out his arm. Jemma bites down a smile and takes it. “Coulson approved me to take one of the cars.”

Jemma raises her eyebrows. “I should hope so. We don’t exactly require a chaperone.”

Fitz snorts. “Given our track record, maybe we do.”

When they reach the garage, he pulls a set of keys out of his jacket pocket and spins them nervously on his finger. Jemma walks toward the SUV in the corner, but Fitz quickly reaches out to grab her waist and redirect her.

“No,” she gasps. “Are you serious?” 

Fitz can’t hide the giddy smile spreading on his face. “Coulson’s letting us take Lola.”

The giggle that bursts from her is uncharacteristic and uncontrollable. “Oh my god.”

“I know!” he agrees, practically bouncing up and down. 

“Oh Fitz, is it horrible that I just want to drive around in it all day long?”

He sighs, his whole body going slack with relief as he slumps against the Corvette. “I was really hoping you would say that. I don’t actually have anything else planned–”

She jumps into the passenger seat and he slides in on the drivers side, starting the engine with a euphoric look on his face. Jemma looks into the side view mirror and spots Mack glaring at them jealously. She laughs again and tosses her head back as he peels out of the garage.

They drive around for hours, pulling over into a turnout with a gorgeous view to eat sandwiches on the hood of Lola. Her ankles swing beneath her and she catches his leg with hers, glancing at him a bit nervously. She leans forward, capturing his lips with hers cautiously, but he responds with enthusiasm and her insecurities fly out of the window as he leans her back down on the car.

They vow to never, ever tell Coulson what transpired on top of his beloved car. Everything about their date feels incredibly old fashioned, but Jemma supposes that even they, with their gadgets and science and forward thinking, can use a little old fashioned every once and a while.


	93. Rewired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jemma is excited about studying Fitz's rewired brain; Fitz, not so much.

“It’s fascinating!” Jemma exclaims, leaning over the scans laid out on the table. “Do you see this here?” 

She points to a region of his brain that doesn’t appear to be “lighting up” properly. “Uh, yeah,” he grinds out. “I–I can see that.”

“What’s so fascinating is that it’s your temporal lobe,” Jemma rambles, adjusting the little electrodes placed on his head. “Of course, we already knew that’s where the damage was but–” 

“Simmons,” he interrupts. “Get to your–to your point.” 

Jemma flinches for a moment but continues. “Your primary issue is with speech. But your temporal lobe is really more associated with long-term memory and visual memory, which you’ve had very little problems with.”

“Great,” he says sarcastically. “So I’m not even–I can’t even have an injury right.” 

She frowns. “Fitz–”

“So how do we–how do I fix it?” 

“I don’t think we fix it,” Jemma says softly. She lays her hand over his trembling one and draws soothing circles with her thumb. It infuriates him and he pushes away from her. “I think we learn to live with it.” 

“We?” he asks with a scoff. “ _We_ don’t learn to–you don’t have to live with this. I do.” 

Jemma shuts her eyes, looking incredibly frustrated. Fitz misreads her agitation and pushes on.

“I’m useless to–to you now. There’s no point in acting like–in pretending that I’m not.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snaps, standing to match his posture. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just fascinated to know if perhaps your injury is different due to your intelligence or your field or–” 

“Oh, _fascinated_ , are you?” he spits acerbically. “I’m not your–your–I’m not-” 

He slams his bad hand down on the table beside him in frustration, shoving Jemma’s papers off to the side. Fitz yanks off the electrodes, removing the device from his belt and throwing it on the ground. It shatters loudly and Jemma’s hands fly up to cover her mouth as tears fill her eyes.

“Fitz, of course you’re not my lab rat,” she sniffs. “I never meant–I don’t know what to do.” 

He stops moving, cheat heaving as he runs a hand through his hair. “Neither do I!” he explodes. “I’m not–I’m _broken_ , now, and I’m not–I’m not–we aren’t the same, now.”

“Of course we’re the same,” Jemma protests, moving to stand in front of him. “Fitz, you’re the most important thing to me.” 

“I mean I’m not…I’m not equal to you anymore,” he croaks painfully. He finally looks down at her, into her wide, terrified brown eyes, and his breath hitches when he sees the pain there. She’s completely disappointed in him and he can feel it. It wraps around his heart and squeezes.

But then suddenly she’s pressed against him, hand on his cheek as she presses her lips against his softly. It’s over before he has a chance to react, and her eyes flutter open cautiously.

“Is that…is that okay?” she whispers. 

He doesn’t say anything, clenching and unclenching his bad hand. “Fitz, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t let her explain what exactly she’s apologizing for. He surges forward and kisses her again, stomach swooping when she responds immediately. One of her hands reaches for his bad one, prying open his fingers and placing her palm flush against his. She uses it to lead him, walking backward until she hits the lab bench. He follows obediently, leaning his weight on his arms on either side of her.

He pulls away first, gazing at her in disbelief. A wide smile spreads across her swollen lips and she nods decisively.

“That’s exactly it,” she says firmly. 

“What?” 

“That’s what it’s supposed to be like,” she states simply. “This, us. This is what it’s supposed to be like.” 

He’s still not sure he completely understands, but she runs her hands up his arms and locks them behind his neck, nuzzling into him, and he promptly forgets to ask what she’s going on about.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you aren’t enough for me, Fitz. I’ve just been–I’ve been worried that I’m making you worse, and–” 

“No,” he cuts her off. “Never, Jemma.” 

“I’ve missed that,” she whispers. 

“Missed uh, what?” 

“Missed you calling me my first name,” she admits. “We really will figure this out, Fitz. I promise. And even if we can’t fix it, we’ll adapt.” 

“But I…I can’t be your…” 

“Partner?” Jemma finishes. “Best friend? Boyfriend? Because I don’t care if it takes you a little longer now. I still want you to be all of those things and I really hope you still want to be them.” 

“Of course I–always.” 

“Good,” she grins. “I think we should have dinner off of the base tonight.” 

“Like a date?” 

“Exactly like a date.” 

The screens behind her still blare his new damage at him, the still images of his brain shaded different colors. For a moment, they feel like a taunt, a challenge from the cosmos that she’s too good for him and he’ll never measure up, not like this.

Instead, he reaches over and turns them off with the flick of a switch. He takes a deep breath and kisses her forehead.

“I’d like that.”


	94. Sleepless At The Playground

Fitz stares at the ceiling, lying on his back and reciting the digits of pi in his head. He hopes that it’ll lull him to sleep, but so far he’s to the 589th digit with no signs of fatigue.

Well, he _is_ fatigued, certainly. It had been his first field mission since returning from Maveth and it hadn’t exactly been easy. Just the thought of it makes his ribs ache from where he’d been violently kicked by some Hydra goons. The explosion that had occurred shortly thereafter hadn’t helped matters, and his head still pounds from a mild concussion.

He startles when the door slides open with no knock or warning. He sits up a bit widly, wincing at the pain in his side. Jemma turns back from slowly shutting the door and grimaces.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I–I just–” 

“It’s okay,” he tells her softly, giving her an encouraging smile. “I couldn’t sleep anyway.” 

She pads over to his bed and takes a seat at the end of it. She clears her throat and even in the dark, he can see her playing with her fingers. “I do this sometimes.”

“Do what?” 

“Come in here at night,” she admits, voice cracking a little bit. “I know that’s probably…very strange. I understand if you want me to stop.” 

His brow furrows and he struggles to sit up straighter. This gets her attention and she crawls over to help support his injured side with some more pillows. He clicks on his little bedside lamp, bathing the room in a dim glow.

“Jemma, it’s okay. Why do you…why do you do that?”

“I have these nightmares,” she tells him, nervously tucking her hair behind one ear. Now that she’s closer, he notices that she’s wearing a pair of his pajama pants. “About when you went to Maveth.” 

He feels a pang in his gut and reached out to lay his hand on her knee. “I’m really sorry, Jemma. I know this has been so hard for you, losing him, and–”

“No,” she says fiercely. “Not–it isn’t about him. I have dreams that he came back and you didn’t. Or that neither of you made it back but it’s always–I always have to come in here and make sure you’re here and breathing and alive.” 

He swallows hard and rubs her knee lightly. “I don’t mind you coming in here, Jemma. Just…wake me up, okay? I want to help.”

She licks her lips, nodding tentatively. “Okay. I would like that. It would help, I think. To talk to you afterward.”

She eyes the pillow beside his head and he pats it. “Lay down.”

“Oh, I couldn’t…” 

“Jemma,” he says sternly. “Come on, lay down. You look exhausted.” 

“You’re hurt,” she frets. “I don’t want to hurt you any more.” 

“It’s my other side,” he tells her. “Besides, you’ve always kept to your own side of the bed.” 

She laughs lightly and gingerly lays down beside him. “Unlike someone I know.”

“I like to think of it as sleep aerobics,” he jokes. This pulls another laugh out of her and he grins, close enough to see her eyes light up in the dimness of the room. “Was it…did you have the dream because of what happened today?” 

“I think so,” Jemma answers. “This time it wasn’t about Maveth, it was Hunter coming back on the quinjet and he was covered in blood and alone. You didn’t make it back.” 

“Hey,” he says. She cups a hand over his cheek. “I told you I’d always come back, didn’t I?” 

“You didn’t say always.” 

“Well then, I’m telling you now. I will _always_ come back to you,” he promises, sure to maintain eye contact. She scoots closer to him, pressing her lips to his softly. He inhales sharply as she pulls away. 

“And if you don’t, I’ll always find you,” she promises in return. “I promise.” 

“Deal,” he says. She holds up her hand, pinky outstretched. He chuckles and winds his finger around hers, kissing the back of his fist as she does the same. “I can’t believe we’re still doing that.” 

“Of course we are,” she murmurs, voice becoming raspy with sleep. She wriggles forward again and kisses him once more. This time he’s fast enough to respond in kind, and she sighs contentedly when he nuzzles his nose against hers. 

“Get some sleep, Jemma. I’ll be right here.” 

“So will I,” she says. “We both will.” 

He rolls onto his side to face her, groaning slightly from the pain in his side, and she sits up.

“Fitz!” 

“What?” 

“Cuddling is out of the question tonight,” she says sternly, suddenly very awake. “You need to heal.” 

“But it’s not out of the question entirely?” he asks hopefully. 

“Of course it isn’t,” she smiles. She helps him roll back over onto his back and repositions herself beside him, looping her thigh over his waist. “But for now, this is as good as it’s getting.” 

“That’ll do,” he grins. She falls silent and so does he, focusing on the sound of her breathing. He only counts forty two breaths before he’s fallen asleep.


	95. Long May She Reign (Royalty AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royal AU, based on the TV show Reign

> “It was supposed to be us,” Jemma says quietly. Fitz stands beside her at the window, hands clasped behind his back.
> 
> “It’s what’s best for your country,” he replies. “This is what–it’s what I was telling you, Jemma. Our marriage would not have worked, in the long run. We’ve got to put our countries first and we wouldn’t have been able to do that, not when–” 
> 
> “Not when it came to each other,” she finishes. She blinks back tears and nods resolutely. “But how am I supposed to marry him now? How am I supposed to do that, knowing what I know about…about…” 
> 
> “About love?” he asks, flashing her that lopsided smile that she adores so much. 
> 
> “Yes,” she breathes. “About love. Fitz, we grew up together. I lived my whole life believing we would be married.” 
> 
> “As did I,” he reminds her. “And those years we were apart were horrible. I missed you so much, and then you returned…so beautiful and just as curious and frustrating as you were back then.” 
> 
> She laughs and ducks her head, hiding her pink cheeks. “And you, still incredibly smart and handsome…” 
> 
> His smile widens and she risks reaching out to squeeze his hand, keeping her eyes on the castle grounds. 
> 
> “And so pasty.” 
> 
> “Jemma!” he gasps with a laugh. He sobers and squeezes her hand back. “It’ll be alright. Portugal is supposed to be beautiful. Lady Skye and Lady Barbara have both agreed to go with you, haven’t they?” 
> 
> “Yes,” Jemma affirms. “I’m afraid. I want to stay here, in Scotland. With you.” 
> 
> “Now _that’s_ something I never thought I would hear from your lips,” he teases, “after years of being told that after our marriage we’d most certainly have to return to England.” 
> 
> “I suppose I’ve changed my mind. I didn’t know I loved you then.” 
> 
> “I did,” he replies simply, but the words hit her heavily. “I always did. The problem has never been that I didn’t love you, Jemma, I hope you know that. When I was contrary to our marriage it was only because I knew I would give up the world for you and that’s not the duty of a king.” 
> 
> Jemma nods weakly. “I understand. I feel the same way. Sometimes I feel as though I could drag you up from the bottom of the ocean all on my own, just because of how much I care for you.” 
> 
> Fitz clears his throat and steps away from her. “I hope you have a safe voyage tomorrow.” 
> 
> “You’re not going to see me off?” 
> 
> He shakes his head. “No, I’m afraid not. Lance and I will be going on a hunting trip in the morning. So this is goodbye.” 
> 
> Jemma steps forward and grabs him by the neck, tugging him in for a brief but passionate kiss before she releases him. “Goodbye, Fitz.” 
> 
> He walks away from the tears in her eyes and she notes the way he quickens his pace. She hears a loud bang and a shuffle as soon as he turns the corner, and she can imagine him striking out at the stone walls of the castle. 
> 
> Covering her mouth with one hand, she cries. 

> *** 
> 
> “And you’re sure we’ve got everything we need?” Lady Barbara confirms to the captain taking them aboard. 
> 
> “I’m quite sure, miss.” 
> 
> Barbara glares at the man as he turns away from her impatiently, and Jemma reaches out to squeeze her shoulder. “I’m so terribly sorry about all of this.” 
> 
> Barbara turns with wide eyes. “How so?” 
> 
> “I know how you feel about Lance,” Jemma says, referring to her relationship with Fitz’s illegitimate brother. “And you’re leaving him for me.” 
> 
> “You are my queen,” Barbara reminds her softly. “And most importantly, my friend. I only wish that we were making this journey due to happiness and not political coercion.” 
> 
> Jemma squares her shoulders. “As do I, but I fear there is no other choice.” 
> 
> “They’ll supply troops for England,” Skye says. “But why not get those troops from Scotland instead?” 
> 
> “Scotland simply does not have the resources required,” Jemma reminds her for what feels like the thousandth time. “It’s impossible.” 
> 
> “It’s not,” a voice says suddenly. Jemma startles, hand over her heart. She can hear her ladies tittering behind her as Hunter climbs off of his horse. Barbara looks near swooning, and Jemma so badly wants to make a joke about her beau’s height. “This is for you.” 
> 
> Jemma unfolds the parchment he hands to her, squinting at Fitz’s nearly illegible handwriting. 
> 
> _My dearest Jemma,_
> 
> _I told you that I would give up the world for you. I meant it. I’m afraid that I am simply not strong enough to live in a world that does not have you in it. I have lived my life in a series of expectations imposed on me by my situation of birth and oftentimes it has truly felt as though there is not enough air to breathe. In our childhood, and now, you have managed to take breath enough for one and drag me from the bottom of the ocean, into the sun._
> 
> _Let me do the same for you. I know you have always been fond of the estate in Perthshire. Come there with me._
> 
> _All of my love,_
> 
> _Fitz_
> 
> “What?” Jemma gasps. Skye, precocious and nosey as always, snatches the letter from her hands and reads it greedily, Barbara peering over her shoulder. “How can he…we can’t…England will fall! I’m the last of my line, I simply cannot–” 
> 
> “He has a plan,” Lance says. “He’s sure that if the two of you leave for Perthshire, our father will grant you the men that you need, and you will not have to marry that Hog-faced prince of Portugal.” 
> 
> Barbara bites back a smile at the slight to Prince William and Skye inelegantly snorts. “How is he sure?” 
> 
> “He just is,” Hunter shrugs. “I was raised in England. You know that. I am a man of my country in every respect, but Fitz is my brother. I want him happy. I want my queen happy. And knowing my father as I do, I believe that Fitz is right. This will work.” 
> 
> Jemma grabs the letter back from Skye and tucks it into her corset. She looks to her ladies and takes a deep breath. “Tell the men to fetch our things off of the ship. We won’t be going to Portugal.” 
> 
> Barbara beams and Skye whoops, throwing her hand in the air and running off to tell the captain. Jemma hikes up her many skirts and hoists herself onto Lance’s horse over his protests. 
> 
> “Where is he?” Jemma asks him. 
> 
> “On the west end of the grounds. He’s got a small carriage and horses, but you won’t have any things.” 
> 
> “A queen can always make do without,” she smiles cheekily. She kicks the horse and holds on tight as it runs full-stop across the grounds. She hears the Prince of Portugal, shouting after her, but as far as she’s concerned they are not even on the same planet. 
> 
> The horse raises up on its hind legs when she stops it abruptly, spotting the carriage in the distance. She clambers off of it, practically falling onto the ground, and begins running as quickly as she can despite her cumbersome outfit. 
> 
> “Jemma,” he breathes. She throws herself against him, laughing as he manages to twirl her halfway round before he’s distracted himself by kissing her. He nearly drops her in his enthusiasm and she grins against his lips. 
> 
> “Shall we leave?” she whispers as he pulls away. He tucks her hair behind her ear and nods, eyes bright with something more alive than she’s seen since they’d had no choice but to break off their engagement. 
> 
> “Yes,” he tells her. “But wait.” 
> 
> She tilts her head to the side, confusion and anticipation building in her, until he drops down on one knee in front of her.
> 
> “Marry me,” Fitz says. His voice is confident but his expression tells her that he’s incredibly nervous. “Not because of war or politics or power. Not even because we’ve been betrothed since before we could speak. Marry me, because we love each other. Because combined, we’re twice as smart.” 
> 
> Tears of relief and joy build in her eyes and she rushes forward to fall to the ground in front of him. 
> 
> “Yes, you silly man. Of course I will. But if we want any chance of that–” 
> 
> “We’ve got to leave,” he confirms, standing and helping her up with him. Stealing one last kiss, he nods at his most trusted horsemen and helps her into the carriage. 
> 
> Jemma doesn’t even peek through the window behind her. She threads her fingers together with his and buries her face into his neck. 
> 
> “What’s the saying, again? The one about chess,” she ponders aloud. “Behind every king, there is a queen protecting him?” 
> 
> He chuckles, warm and deep, and shifts to kiss her forehead. “That isn’t you and I, Jemma. Beside _this_ prince is a queen, and we protect each other.” 
> 
> “We do.” 


	96. The Great Escape

Fitz blearily awakes to the sweet scent of vanilla–and hair in his mouth. He splutters, spitting out Jemma’s strands before contentedly snuggling back into her. HIs hand runs up and down the soft skin on her back, reveling in the lack of barriers between them. 

They never get to do this. In their efforts to keep their relationship discreet amongst their well-intentioned but invasive group of friends, they rarely spend the night together. Fitz’s roommate Hunter had gone on a weekend trip with his girlfriend and Jemma’s best friend, Bobbi. 

So while the two of them are gone, Fitz revels in being able to have all of the things with Jemma that he really wants: cooking breakfast for her, waking up beside her, watching TV after work and hearing about her day, being able to kiss her whenever he damn well pleases. 

He basks in the warmth of her, temporarily disappointed by the fact that she’d opted to put her bra and panties back on last night. Fitz leans back just far enough to plant a kiss on her forehead, letting his eyes flutter shut once again. It’s only eight a.m., and they have plenty of time before Hunter returns from his trip in the afternoon. 

Or at least Fitz had thought so. 

Suddenly the front door of the apartment bangs open, his roommate’s voice echoing down the hallway. “Fitz? You up yet? I had the worst fucking day.” 

Fitz’s eyes snap open and he shakes Jemma urgently. “Jemma!” he whispers urgently. “Jemma, Hunter is back!” 

She leans up on her elbows, blinking sleep from her eyes. “What?” 

“Hunter!” Fitz repeats. “He’s back!” 

She squeaks, scrambling out of the bed as Hunter’s footsteps grow closer. “Fitz, I can hear you mate.” 

“Shit,” he mumbles. “Uh, where’s your pants?” 

“I have no idea!” she whispers back, hair wild. 

“I’m comin’ in!” Hunter announces. “Hope you don’t have a lady in there.” 

This seems to be the straw that breaks Jemma’s back. She completely gives up on finding her pants and grabs a shirt of Fitz’s off of the floor. She races to the window and yanks it upward. 

“What are you doing?” he hisses.

“Fire escape!” she retorts. 

“You’re not dressed!” 

“Distract him and then throw me my clothes!” 

Then she climbs out onto the fire escape, shivering in the cold morning air. She curses under her breath and slides Fitz’s dark blue button down around her body. She tightens it around herself and shuffles back and forth on her freezing feet; the metal of the fire escape is doing her no favors. 

Fitz doesn’t have time to close the window as Hunter swings the door open. “What the hell are you doing?” Hunter asks, tilting his head to the side at the sight of Fitz standing in the middle of the room in nothing but his boxers. 

“I was just…looking for some pants,” Fitz says, technically not lying. “How was your trip?” 

“Awful,” Hunter groans. He collapses back onto Fitz’s bed, covering his face with his hands. As he does so, Fitz notices Jemma’s top underneath him. 

Just his bloody luck. 

“What happened?” Fitz asks, stalling for time. She’s got a shirt of his, so as long as he can find her pants and her shoes, she’ll be fine. He fervently hopes that Hunter will keep his face covered in his distress. Fitz begins digging through the mess on his bedroom floor while Hunter begins his tale. 

“Just the drive alone was a nightmare. I don’t know why either of us thought we could survive a five and a half hour car ride together,” Hunter complains. “Then we get there and of course the first thing I want is a beer. She immediately starts nagging because she wants to go lay out by the pool and I want to play poker and have a few beers.” 

Fitz grunts in agreement as Hunter pauses, obviously expecting a response. “Yeah well, you know Bobbi,” Fitz says unconvincingly. “Always uh…wanting to swim.” 

Hunter drops his hands and sits up to look at him. “What the hell are you up to?” 

“Like I said, just looking for some pants.” 

Hunter pulls the bright yellow blouse out from underneath his torso and smirks. “But not your pants.” 

“Yes, my pants,” Fitz says irritably. “That’s from–the other night.” 

“Who did you go to bed with?!” Hunter gasps, leaning forward like the incorrigible gossip that Fitz knows him to be. “Was it that bird from the coffee shop who’s always making eyes at you? I knew you two were gonna fu–” 

A loud bang on the fire escape cuts him off. He looks curiously out of the window and Fitz trips over himself in his attempt to close it. Hunter’s eyebrow raises suspiciously, moving faster than Fitz has ever seen him. He catches the window before it shuts, pushing it up all the way and sticking his head out. He looks to his left and finds Jemma standing there, shivering in Fitz’s shirt and nothing else.

“Good moooorning, Jemma,” Hunter grins cheekily. “Why don’t you come on in for a cuppa, huh? What kind of host is Fitz, shoving you out into the cold?” 

“Hunter, please,” Jemma begs. “We don’t want anyone to know.” 

“Hey, fair play,” Hunter shrugs as he helps her in. Fitz looks at her apologetically and fusses with the buttons on his shirt wrapped around her. “So I know your little secret. You showed me yours, I’ll show you mine.” 

“No, Hunter!” Jemma exclaims, covering her eyes as quickly as she can. “I don’t want to see yours!” 

He barks out a laugh. “No, not that. This.” 

She cautiously peeks out from between her fingers and Fitz’s jaw drops as he stares at his roommate’s hand. 

“You didn’t,” Fitz says dully. 

“No,” Jemma denies. “Absolutely no chance that’s real.” 

“’Fraid it is, sweetheart,” Hunter grimaces. “Bob and I got married last night.” 

“WHAT?!” Fitz and Jemma shout in unison. 

It turns out that nothing distracts from a secret relationship quite like two of your friends getting married on an ill-fated Vegas getaway. 


	97. Skype (College AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FitzSimmons + relationship over skype

_**Freshman, Fall.** _

“Can you see me?” Jemma asks nervously, patting down her hair. She squints at the blurry screen in front of her as the pixels rearrange themselves into Fitz. As soon as she can make out his face properly, a wide smile spreads across her features. “Hi, Fitz.” 

“Hey Jemma,” he grins back. “The WiFi here is shite.” 

She sighs and shakes her head. “Same here. You would think that M.I.T would at least have good connectivity.” 

Fitz snorts in response, glaring down at his M.I.T. t-shirt. “You would think. It’s nice to see your face, instead of just talking over the phone.” 

She blushes and looks down. They’ve been dating for a little over a year now, ever since he took her to their Junior Prom. Still, flirting and compliments still cause a flush to rise to her cheeks. 

“It is nice, isn’t it?” Jemma agrees. “How was your first week of classes?” 

“Good,” he shrugs. “Easy. I thought college was supposed to be hard.” 

“Don’t say that to anyone else,” she warns him. “It’s hard to everyone else.” 

He smirks and leans closer to the camera. “Oh c’mon, you think Stanford is easy, too.” 

She laughs and nods. “Oh, I’m so bored. I’m really hoping it gets more challenging!” 

And just like that, they’re caught up in conversation once again. It’s not quite the same, sure. She can’t touch his arm and communicate as easily with glances and body language, but it’s close enough. 

It’s still her. It’s still Fitz. It’s still worth it. 

_**Freshman, Spring** _

“Oh my god,” Fitz groans, face half-buried in his pillow. “I’m never drinking again.” 

Jemma chuckles sympathetically. “That’s what you said last night. Four times, actually.” 

“Sorry I called so late,” he grimaces. “I was a bloody wreck.” 

“It’s perfectly alright,” she assures him. “I like being the one you think of when you’re drunk.” 

“Really?” 

“Of course,” Jemma says. “Besides, how many times did I call you during my ill-fated attempt at pledging?” 

He laughs and then clutches his head in pain. “Point. And I’m three hours later than you.” 

“What day are you getting back home?” Jemma asks. “I’ll be back June 13th.” 

“May 30th,” he says. “That’ll give me enough time to catch up with Hunter, then I can ditch him for the rest of the summer and spend all of my time with my lovely, patient, very-knowledgable-about-minor-alcohol-poisoning girlfriend.” 

She tucks her hair behind her ears and rolls her eyes at him fondly. “Get some more sleep, Fitz. I’ll talk to you when you’re feeling better.” 

“Love you.” 

“Love you too.” 

_**Sophomore, Winter** _

“Fitz, this is ridiculous!” 

“Oh really?” he exclaims, projected on her screen. “Because it seems to me like you do everything with him these days.” 

“Trip is just a _friend_ ,” she says through gritted teeth, throwing her hands up. “You didn’t hear me complaining when all of a sudden your lab partner was some pretty girl dragging you to parties every weekend.” 

“Callie isn’t interested in me,” he fires back. “Trip is interested in you and you know it.” 

“Even if he was, which I’m not saying he is, I’m not interested in him. I love you, Fitz. Why is that not enough?!” 

“Because!” he explodes. “I’m not–it isn’t–whatever, Jemma. I need to go.” 

“No you don’t,” she says, crossing her arms defiantly over her chest. “You just don’t want to tell me what you’re feeling.” 

“No, I have work to do,” he says unconvincingly, looking away from her. 

“I’m only trying to help, _Leo_.” 

The subtle dig of using his first name doesn’t go unnoticed. She opens her mouth to continue, but Fitz disconnects the call. The beeping noise resonates through her room and she buries her face in her hands in frustration.

**_Sophomore, Spring_ **

“What do you mean, you’re not coming home?” Jemma gasps at the camera. Fitz bites his lip and looks toward the ceiling. 

“This is an amazing research opportunity for me,” he says tiredly. “I’ve thought about it all day. We both said that we wouldn’t let our relationship get in the way of our careers, and–” 

“I know that,” she interrupts. “I know. But you didn’t even tell me you were applying for this grant, Fitz! I had no idea until I saw _Callie_ congratulating you in some Instagram post.” 

“I should have told you,” he admits. “But it was such a long shot to begin with, they never offer these positions to underclassmen. It didn’t seem like it was going to be an issue.” 

“But you still tried for it,” she whispers. She grimaces as her voice cracks. “You knew it would mean spending the summer apart. If you had told me, I could have applied to summer programs in Boston.” 

“You have your job back home,” he protests weakly. 

“What are we even doing anymore?” Jemma asks as tears fill her eyes. His face instantly morphs into panic. 

“Jemma, no. We’re fine. Everything is fine, we’re just going through a rough patch.” 

“It’s been all year,” she sniffles. “We fight at least once a week.” 

“We’ve always fought,” Fitz rushes to say. She can hear the tears building in his voice and it causes her own throat to tighten. “That’s what we do, we bicker.” 

“This isn’t bickering,” she says. “I think…I think we need to take a break.” 

“A break?” he echoes. A tear slides down his cheek and she has to look away from her laptop. 

“I need some time.” 

“Jemma, please…” 

“I’m so sorry, Fitz. Have a good summer.” 

“Jemma!” 

She clicks the red button and opens the door to her bedroom. Her roommate, Skye, sits in the living room on her laptop, typing rapidly. One look at Jemma’s face and she tosses it aside, opening her arms. 

**_Junior, Fall_ **

Fitz rolls over in bed as his phone blares into the darkness of his room. He rubs a hand over his cheek and lifts it up off of the nightstand. It’s Jemma’s birthday, the first in five years that he hasn’t spent with her. Even when they were across the country, he’d flown out to spend it with her. 

But now they’re broken up. They have been for six months, and aside from some stilted conversations of small talk, they’ve hardly spoken. It’s the most miserable he’s ever been, and no matter how many times his roommate Mack tries to encourage him to put himself out there and meet other girls, he refuses. 

HIs heart stops when he sees her name on his screen, requesting a FaceTime call. It’s past three o’clock in the morning and he sits up straight, rushing to click on his lamp as he answers the call with shaking fingers. 

“Fitz?” Jemma asks. Her face is tear-stained, the room behind her fuzzy and half-dark. 

“Yeah, Jemma, hey,” he practically croaks. He clears his throat, embarrassed, and tries again. “Are you okay? It’s late.” 

“You didn’t call and it was my birthday,” she whimpers. She wipes messily at one cheek and his heart twists. 

“I didn’t think you’d want me to,” he says quietly. “Jemma, please stop crying, love.” 

Her face crumbles even more. “I miss you, Fitz.” 

“I miss you too,” he murmurs fondly. “But hey, are you alright? You can finally legally drink. Have you had enough water?” 

She shoots him a watery smile. “You’re always looking out for me.” 

“Of course I am. I woke up the day after my 21 Run half-dead and it only got worse from there. I’d hate for the same to happen to you.” 

A knock on Jemma’s door startles them both. “Yes?” 

“You okay, Jem?” a deep voice asks. “I have water and tylenol for you.” 

“I’m okay!” she calls back, voice shaking. “Thank you.” 

“I’m coming in,” the man says. 

“I’m gonna go,” Fitz interrupts. 

“No, Fitz, wait!” 

“What, Jemma?” 

“That’s just…it’s just Will. It’s not…” 

“It’s fine, Jemma. We’re not…we’re not anything. Happy birthday.” 

He hangs up and tosses his phone across the room before covering his face with his pillow and yelling. 

**_Junior, Winter_ **

Jemma is sitting at her desk, plugging away at some research, when her Skype tone begins to ping. Her head shoots up; it can’t possibly be Bobbi, as they’ve just spoken the night before. She sucks in a breath when she sees his name. Jemma hesitates for a long moment, but clicks on the green button to accept the call. 

She stutters through her hello when the person on the other side isn’t Fitz. 

“Um, hello,” she says awkwardly. “It’s…been a while, Mack.” 

“Yeah, since your visit sophomore year,” Fitz’s giant roommate says. “Listen I uh…I didn’t have your number, so I had to use his laptop. He stays logged in to Skype, so I figured–” 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, taking note of Mack’s bloodshot eyes. 

“It’s…it’s Fitz.” 

She stops breathing. Her thoughts grind to a halt. She waits for him to continue, unable to speak. 

“There was an accident. His car went off of a bridge.” 

“Is he alive?” she gasps out. It’s all she can say and she hopes that Mack understands. He’s never liked her much, she knows it. 

“Yeah,” Mack says gruffly. “He’s…he’s in a coma.” 

“What do you–in a coma?” 

“He was under water for a while. They’re not sure, when he wakes up, if he’s gonna–if he’ll be the same.” 

“What hospital is he at?” Jemma snaps, tears drying up in her eyes as she springs into action. She opens up her internet browser and looks up the soonest flight to Boston. She jots down all of the information from Mack and blindly throws an assortment of clothes into her duffle bag before she runs out of the door. 

**_Senior, Fall_ **

“How does it feel, to be back?” Jemma asks. 

“It’s–it’s uh, fine,” Fitz says. She watches him clench and unclench his bad hand. “How’s Stanford?” 

“Fine,” Jemma shrugs. “I miss Boston, though.” 

“It’s better for you there.” 

“That’s not true,” she sighs. “I miss you.” 

He flinches. “You miss–you miss the old me.” 

“No,” she says fiercely. “I miss _you,_ Fitz. I don’t know how to make you believe me.” 

“You didn’t want to be with me then,” he says. “You didn’t–and now I’m–now I’m useless.” 

“Fitz, stop!” Jemma exclaims. “I didn’t want to break up with you. You know I didn’t want to, it was the only option.” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose and she stops, forcing herself to calm down. 

“I tried to–I tried to get you to go home,” he growls. “I didn’t–I don’t–I don’t need you.” 

She sucks in a sharp breath and screws her eyes shut. In the recovery from his accident, he sometimes loses control. He lashes out, moreso at her than anyone else. Not for the first time, she wonders if she makes him worse. 

“You’re right,” she whispers. “I just make you worse. I’m so sorry, Fitz. I hope you have a good semester.” 

She hangs up and slams the laptop shut.

 **Senior, Winter**  

Jemma grins like a madwoman, racing down the hall of the Biology building. Her phone chimes with a FaceTime call and she answers excitedly. 

“I did it!” she shouts loudly. Several passerby stare at her but she doesn’t notice, distracted by Fitz’s face lighting up on her tiny screen. 

“I knew you would!” he says proudly, beaming up at her. “Haven’t even graduated yet and you’ve already secured one of the best spots.” 

“I can’t believe it,” she breathes. Her eyes shine brightly and she runs an unsteady hand through her hair. “As soon as I got the email, I just…wow. Fitz, we’ll be living in the same place again!” 

His face darkens for a moment. “Well, at least until I finish up here.” 

“You’ll stay with me, though, won’t you?” she asks hopefully. “We can get started on that non-lethal weapon idea. Oh Fitz, we’ll have _so_ much fun in Boston.” 

“You’re not–you’re doing this for you, right?” he asks nervously. “Because–because I know I said the other night that you’re more than that and it probably made you feel like–” 

“We never talked about it,” she blurts out. She doesn’t care that her classmates are milling all around her. Everyone can hear this conversation, but it doesn’t matter. 

“There’s nothing to discuss, Jemma.” 

Her eyes soften and she grins. “Maybe there is.” 

**_Senior, Spring_ **

“I’ll pick you up at baggage claim,” he confirms for the tenth time. “Your flight lands at 5:20, but I’ll be sure to arrive a bit early.” 

“Thank you, Fitz,” she giggles. “I’ll be glad to see you.” 

“I just saw you at your graduation.” 

“I know, but this is…real.” 

He bites his lip and scratches behind one ear. She looks around at all of the empty boxes surrounding her, prepared to be shipped off to Boston in the morning. 

“Dinner,” he blurts out. She looks at the time and frowns. 

“Fitz, you should have already eaten dinner. It’s nearly nine, now.” 

“No, no,” he mumbles. “I meant…dinner. Me and you. Tomorrow. Some place…some place nice.” 

“Oh,” she breathes. Her face hurts with the way her muscles stretch to grin widely back at him. 

“Oh?” 

“Yes,” she says more firmly. “That sounds…that sounds perfect.” 

“Right. Good. Yes. I’ll–I’ll look up some places to uh, to run by you for that,” he replies. Even through the screen, she can see the blush on his cheeks. 

“Hey, Fitz?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m really happy,” she admits, feeling a little bit absurd for the way that tears of relief spring to her eyes. “I’m sorry that we got lost.” 

He shrugs and smiles back, eyes warm with affection. “You know what I want to say. But I uh, I won’t say it until you’re here.” 

“I won’t either,” she says. She wishes him a good night and sleeps in her bed in Palo Alto for the last time. 

*** 

When she throws herself into his arms at the airport, they say it at the same time, whispered into each other’s ears as they cling to each other. Two years of friendship, three years of dating, and two more of finding their way back to each other. 

And it all leads to this. 

“I love you.” 


	98. Speak Now (For Yourself)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where Jemma agrees to marry Will out of guilt.

“Are you sure about this?” Daisy asks worriedly as she perches the veil on top of Jemma’s hair. 

“What do you mean?” Jemma responds, staring at her through the mirror in front of them. “I’ve changed the veil three times. I think this one is it.” 

“You know what I meant,” Daisy drawls, unamused. “This just–it doesn’t seem like you, Jemma.” 

Daisy rarely calls her Jemma, sticking to the nostalgic Bus-days moniker of Simmons. Jemma bristles slightly despite her maid of honor’s efforts to ask the question gently. “I owe him everything.” 

Bobbi, who has been silent in her dark blue bridesmaid’s dress, sits up straighter. “That’s the wrong reason to get married.” 

“And what would you know?” Jemma snaps, a bit meanly. “You’re shagging your ex-husband.” 

Bobbi raises her eyebrows and tilts her head to the side. “Is that how we’re going to do this? Because if you want to play the mean girl card, you and Will both owe everything to Fitz. Who, you _might_ have noticed, left as soon as you put the damn ring on your finger.

Jemma’s face falls, eyes filling with tears, and Bobbi immediately looks guilty. 

“I’m sorry, I–” 

“No,” Jemma interrupts. She looks back into the mirror, eyes blank. “You’re right. We’d have died on that planet if not for Fitz. And it’s my fault that you all lost him.” 

Daisy crosses her arms. “I still see him. Once a week.” 

Jemma’s eyes widen. “You…you do?” 

“Of course I do,” Daisy scoffs. “He’s one of my best friends. I wasn’t going to let your love triangle ruin my relationship with either one of you, which is why I’m standing up there with you today even though I spent all of last night getting wasted with Fitz.” 

“That’s where you were,” Jemma breathes. 

Bobbi shrugs sympathetically. “May stayed behind to keep you company, but she’s with him until the ceremony.” 

Jemma covers her face with her hands. “God, this is like a divorce.” 

“No, this is a wedding,” Daisy quips, attempting to lighten the mood. It falls flat and she gives up. “Look, all I was trying to say is that you haven’t really smiled _once_ today, and I might not know all that much about weddings and family, but I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be happy to be getting hitched.” 

Bobbi nods sagely. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t stop smiling at all that day. And I was marrying _Hunter._ ” 

Jemma turns away from the mirror to face her bridesmaids head-on. “How is he?” 

“Will?” Daisy asks. “I haven’t talked to him. He’s not exactly my biggest fan.” 

“No. Fitz.” 

Daisy and Bobbi exchange a look. Bobbi takes one for the team and responds. “He’s…hanging in there. He’s settling in alright at Stark Industries. His apartment is nice, he works for Iron Man–” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Jemma murmurs, staring down at the white taffeta covering her lap. 

“He’s miserable,” Daisy finally answers honestly. “He misses you. He’s hurt that you agreed to marry another man but somehow he still understands.” 

A pang of misery hits Jemma in the gut and she startles when Lincoln knocks on the door. 

“We’re ready,” he says awkwardly, smiling a little bit crooked. 

“We’ll be there in a minute,” Daisy smiles back. She turns to Jemma one last time and squeezes her hand as she helps her up. “I’m serious, Jemma. You don’t have to do this. He proposed right when he got back, and you may have felt cornered but–” 

“I’m all he has,” Jemma all but whimpers. Daisy opens her mouth to argue, but Bobbi holds up a hand to stop her. 

“If this is what you want, then let’s do this. We just wanted to make sure.” 

They follow her out to the aisle, where Coulson will walk Jemma down to Will on the other end. Will has no groomsmen, standing alone near the alter, and Bobbi is struck with a sudden understanding of how Jemma must feel, how tortured and guilty and miserable she must be. 

This man, who tried to die for her, who lived solely for her, who Fitz nearly died to find, has no one and nothing else but Jemma. Bobbi stands by the fact that this is entirely wrong; the wrong reason to get married, the wrong man to be married to, the wrong kind of wedding for Jemma Simmons. 

But Bobbi also understands what it’s like to have guilt eat you alive. She knows the gnawing and the clawing and the scratching, so she walks with Daisy up to the alter and does her best to smile at the man standing on the other side. 

She turns to watch Jemma stride down the aisle with Coulson at her side. Bobbi can’t turn off her keen observational skills. Even behind the veil, she sees that Jemma looks resigned and afraid. Her hand claws at Coulson’s arm the closer that they get to the alter. 

The whole thing makes her want to burst into tears. Daisy stares at a point somewhere over Will’s head, looking as though she’s pretending to be anywhere but here. 

And then it begins. Coulson leaves Jemma in front of the preacher and Will lifts her veil. Bobbi can’t see her face, but she notices the tension in her friend’s shoulders. She looks down at her shoes as the ceremony begins. The preacher speaks but Bobbi doesn’t register what he’s saying. 

“Should anyone here present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace,” the preacher says, and Bobbi’s head jerks up, Daisy’s following suit. The entire SHIELD collective sitting in the pews seems to hold their breath. 

For a split second, Bobbi thinks that Daisy is going to say something and try one last time to call this whole thing off. Even Coulson leans forward in his seat as though he’s going to do something about it. A brief flash of fantasy flits through her mind as she imagines Fitz bursting through the doors and telling Jemma to stop. 

But he doesn’t, and Daisy doesn’t make a sound, and Coulson leans back in defeat.

“This isn’t right!” a voice exclaims.

Will stumbles back. “What?” 

“I’m so sorry,” Jemma gushes. Bobbi holds her bouquet in front of her mouth to hide her smile because for the first time in forever, Jemma Simmons is dictating her own story. There are tears falling down Jemma’s cheeks and she reaches up to yank off her veil with one hand. 

“This isn’t…this isn’t what I want.” 

She looks over her shoulder and even through her tears, Bobbi sees a genuine little smile bloom on her features. Then the enormity of what she’s doing seems to hit her and she takes off running down the aisle. 

“I’ll go,” Daisy murmurs. “You…deal with this.” 

Daisy chases after Jemma, nearly tripping on her long bridesmaids dress. She catches up with her in the parking lot, trying to clamber into one of the SHIELD-issue cars. 

“Jemma, wait! Where are you going?” 

Jemma freezes, confusion etched on her features. “I…don’t know. I don’t know where he is.” 

She begins to laugh, half-hysterical, and Daisy grabs the keys out of her hand. “I know where Fitz is. I’ll take you to him, but only if you’re sure this is what you want. He can’t take it again, Jemma. He doesn’t blame you but–” 

“He should,” Jemma cuts her off, her laughter fading off into something more melancholy. “But he doesn’t. I was going to let Will down easy, isn’t that the funniest thing? Then suddenly he was proposing in a hospital bed and I heard myself saying yes and I wasn’t even in my own body.” 

“You were going to choose Fitz,” Daisy says, dumbfounded. 

“I was halfway through trying to explain it to Will,” Jemma giggles madly. She brushes at her cheeks and climbs into the passenger seat as Daisy mans the steering wheel. “Three days later, Fitz was gone.” 

Daisy starts up the car and peels out of the parking lot. “But we’re gonna get him back, aren’t we?” 

Jemma exhales sharply and nods. “Yes. We are.” 

They drive for nearly three hours. They talk about everything–the night Jemma kissed Will on the planet, the way she’d left Will behind at the sound of Fitz’s voice, her determination to move on when she returned only to have her guilt crash down on her at dinner with Fitz, kissing Fitz in the lab, the way she’d only helped Hydra once Fitz was on the other side of the portal–and then they fall into silence. 

Daisy stops in front of a small house on the outskirts of Los Angeles. Jemma’s entire body goes numb with nerves; a modest but new sedan sits in the driveway, indicating that Fitz must be home. 

“It’s been three months,” Jemma breathes nervously. “What if he’s moved on? What if he doesn’t–what if he can’t forgive me?” 

“You can do this,” Daisy says. “Look, I’ll park around the block, okay? I’ll wait for an hour and if you don’t meet me there, then I’ll head back. If not, then I’ll take you home.” 

Jemma bites her lip and nods. “Okay. Here goes nothing, hm?” 

“Go get him, Simmons.” 

She gives her friend a tremulous, grateful smile as she steps out of the car. She hikes up the heavy skirt of her wedding dress and makes her way to the front door, knocking on it with their special little code. 

The door swings open almost immediately and she has to restrain herself from throwing her arms around him right then and there. He blinks, long and slow, as though he can’t quite believe that she’s standing in front of him.

“Jemma,” he croaks. He looks as though he hasn’t slept in days, the smell of whiskey clinging to his clothes. His eyes roam her figure, eyes flashing with pain at the sight of her in a white dress. “What are you doing here?” 

“It wasn’t right,” she blurts out. “I couldn’t marry him.” 

“But…why?” 

“You know why,” she says, unable to keep herself from smiling. “I never should have said yes to him. I know that. I was so overwhelmed by the state he was in, and I was trying to explain to him that I wanted to be with you, but–” 

“Jemma–” 

“Let me finish. You’re the only person that I never want to be without. Just because I was able to live without you doesn’t mean I ever want to do it again and I’ve missed you _so much_. You’re the most precious thing in the world to me. I know I’m…I must be too late, for us. But please come back with me. SHIELD is our home. You belong with the team.” 

“SHIELD isn’t my home,” he says after a long beat. Her entire body deflates, face crumbling. Then he suddenly moves to hold onto her, tugging her tightly against his chest. “I’d have thought you knew that by now.” 

She wraps herself around him, nearly crying with relief at his closeness. “You’ll come back?” 

He sighs into her hair. “I’ll have to talk to Stark. He won’t exactly be pleased. I’m in the middle of a redesign for War Machine, I probably won’t be able to leave until it’s finished.” 

“Can I stay here?” she asks hopefully. He looks surprised, tilting his head to the side as he leans back to study her face. 

“You’re serious.” 

“I’m serious about all of it,” she says decisively. “A girl doesn’t run away from a wedding just to make up with a friend, Fitz.” 

A cautious smile lights up his eyes and he bends down to tuck an errant curl behind her ear. “I never pictured you in a dress like this.” 

She scoffs. “Neither did I. I’m not exactly the taffeta type.” 

His nose crinkles in distaste. “And it’s so poofy.” 

“What exactly did you picture me in?” she asks. It doesn’t even occur to her that they’re still on his front porch. 

“Something simple. With straps, of course, since you hate those wonky bras. And soft. Silk, maybe.” 

His cheeks are pink as he reveals that he’s thought of her in a wedding dress enough times to get this much detail, and she can’t help herself. In a true testament to how well he knows her, he’s practically described her dream dress. She leans up to capture his lips softly, a question waiting for an answer. 

He presses back immediately, hands sliding down to her waist. When he pulls away and opens his mouth to speak, she beats him to it. 

“I swear, Fitz, if you say something about a curse or the cosmos right now I’m going to kill you.” 

He chuckles and shakes his head. “No. I was just going to suggest we…take things slow.” 

“Oh,” she says, disappointed. “Daisy is around the corner, she said she’d wait an hour to take me home before she leaves. I don’t have to stay–” 

“No!” he jumps in quickly. “Not–I want you to stay. I just don’t want us to rush into anything. You’ve just run off on a wedding.” 

She cringes but nods in agreement. “You’re right. Slow is okay with me.” 

He smiles, lacing their fingers and tugging her into the house. “Come on, I’ll give you a tour.” 

She spends the next week reveling in waking up beside him and wearing nothing but his clothes. Bobbi calls her once while Fitz is at the office, to tell her that Will has returned to his family in Iowa. She reads a letter he’s left for Jemma aloud. It’s full of forgiveness and understanding, laced with a twinge of hurt and guilt. 

The day that Fitz can leave for SHIELD once again, they stand in his small kitchen and watch the sun rise over the back yard. 

“It’s not exactly Perthshire, but I’ll take it,” she mumbles against his chest. His arm tightens around her shoulders, lips dropping a kiss to the top of her head. 


	99. Perspective (Hollywood AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Big Fight from Chapter 2 of All The Bright and Precious Things, from Fitz's POV.

Fitz wakes up with his face stuck to an unfamiliar leather couch. The bright LA sunshine streaming through the windows pierces his eyes and he groans, reaching out onto the coffee table for his phone to check the time. It must be early, since his alarm still hasn’t gone off and he’d set it for 8 a.m. when he and Skye had returned sometime past 3 a.m. last night. 

He clicks the home button on his phone to wake the screen–nothing happens. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, swinging his legs onto the ground. He dashes toward the kitchen to check the time displayed on the microwave. 

 _10:42_ , the numbers blare back at him. 

His meeting with Jemma and Hand started almost fifteen minutes ago, and Skye’s apartment is at least a 20 minute drive to the studio, if he gets really lucky with traffic. He punches the kitchen counter in frustration and begins searching for his car keys and his wallet. She’s going to absolutely kill him, he thinks. 

His heart races the way that it always does when he knows he’s done something to upset Jemma. He has a special kind of panic for these moments, and he recognizes the physical feeling of it immediately. 

Skye stumbles out of her room, wearing a large t-shirt and little else. She rubs at her eyes and then blinks at him in confusion. 

“Fitz, what’s up?” 

“My meeting,” he grits out. He freezes as he looks at her, suddenly struck with a new sense of worry. “Skye, we didn’t–uh, we didn’t–last night–” 

Skye snorts gracelessly. “No. No, we absolutely did not.” 

“Thank god,” he sighs in relief. She raises her eyebrows in mock-offense. 

“You could do worse.” 

He doesn’t react to her joke at all, and that’s how she knows something is really wrong. 

“Fitz, what’s going on?” 

“My phone died,” he tells her as he desperately searches for the rest of his things. “So my alarm didn’t go off and my meeting with Hand started fifteen bloody minutes ago.” 

“Oh shit,” Skye curses. She helps him look, finding his wallet just as he finds his keys. Skye tosses it to him. “Good luck, let me know if there’s anything I can do.” 

“She’s going to be so pissed,” Fitz says darkly. “I think the last thing that would help would be talking to you about it.” 

He races out of her place, nearly cringing as a photographer snaps a shot of him. 

 _That’ll be in the papers tomorrow_ , he thinks bitterly. 

It takes him twenty five minutes to get to the studio, and when he races to the security desk, the security guard recognizes him. He tells him that Jemma Simmons already left. 

“Poor thing, she looked upset,” the guard frowns. 

“Thanks for your help,” Fitz pants, running back to his car illegally parked on the street. He zooms off toward Jemma’s house and when he finally arrives, he takes a shaking breath. 

“Just apologize,” he tells himself. “Apologize a lot and tell her that you’ll personally call Victoria Hand and work something out. It’s going to be fine.” 

His little pep-talk does nothing to really soothe his nerves. He lets himself into the house using his key and sees no sign of her downstairs. Fitz licks his lips and stares up the staircase; it’s never looked so foreboding before. He climbs them slowly, kneeling down to pet Widget when the little dog races out of Jemma’s room to greet him.

“Where’s your mum?” he murmurs. “I’ve got some groveling to do.” 

He picks up Widget and enters Jemma’s bedroom at the same time, Fitz’s stomach swooping with nerves as he takes in the scene. Her notecards–the ones she’d worked so painstakingly on–are torn into shreds, littering the floor. He gulps loudly and places Widget on the ground.  

“Jemma,” he rasps. 

She spins around in her silk robe, hair half-undone and mascara smeared all around her eyes. He does his best to look her in the face when he speaks but the pain in her eyes constricts his chest. 

“I’m so sorry,” he practically whispers. Her expression quickly shifts from devastation to anger and he stumbles back slightly. 

“Where the hell were you?” she hisses. In this moment she looks positively feral, like he’s never seen her before. 

She’s not going to like his answer and he knows it, but he also knows that lying to her will only make this situation worse. With lead in his gut he attempts to explain himself. “I–I was out late last night with Skye, and–” 

Jemma throws her hands up and laughs humorlessly, cold and detached. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

“It was an accident!” he begs, moving toward her in an effort to make her understand. “Please, Jemma, you know I would never do something like this on purpose. My phone was dead, I didn’t wake up to my alarm. I ran to the office as soon as I woke up, but the security guard said you’d already left—“

“Yes,” she growls at him. “Because Victoria Hand has tabled our project.” 

His face crumbles. She can’t even look at him and something inside of him breaks. It’s too reminiscent of his darkest days, the days that pulled them apart for six long months. He grasps at his hair and tugs in desperation. 

“I’m going to fix this,” he tells her as firmly as he can. “I’ll get another meeting with Hand, we’ll work it out. We always fix it. Together.”

“Not this time,” she whispers. She’s all-out crying now, swiping angrily at the tears racing down her red cheeks. “The project is dead, Fitz. All of that work, for nothing. I hope Skye was worth that.”

The insinuation–that he’s sleeping with Skye and that he’s letting it get in the way of everything they’ve worked for–isn’t lost on him, but he doesn’t have the time to explain the situation to her. He needs to stop her from leaving. It’s the only thing he can focus on as she spins around to go into the bathroom, so he reaches out to stop her, spinning her back toward him. She yanks her arm away from him though she can’t bear to be touched by him. An involuntary gasp of hurt leaves his lips and he tries once more to explain. 

“We went to an afterparty so that I could introduce her to some people. Jemma, you have to understand, I was just trying to—““

“Trying to what, Fitz?” she snaps, furious. “Trying to date a girl who’s probably using you? Trying to show her what a ‘nice guy’ you are? Trying to distance yourself as far away from me as you possibly can?”

“What—what are you talking about?” he asks, utterly confused. The last thing he wants–the last thing he’s _ever_ wanted–is distance from Jemma. 

“I heard you yesterday, denying how close we are,” she exclaims. Her voice is rising, reaching a shrill peak that hurts his dully aching head. “I’m not stupid. I know why that is.”

“I—“ he tries, but she cuts him off.

“Stop it!” she shouts, stepping back and covering her eyes with her hand as a small cry erupts from her. He’s never felt guilt quite like this before and he moves to hold her. He’s always been powerless when she starts crying. A protective instinct echoes in his bones and he wants to destroy whatever hurt her. 

But what hurt her is him, and she makes that quite clear as she sobs out her next words. 

“Don’t. Don’t touch me.”

He ignores her and moves into her space anyway. He desperately grasps at her hands and she yanks them away. The tears he’s been trying his best to keep at bay won’t be ignored any longer and they burn at his eyes, an aching lump building his throat. 

“Jemma, it’s not what you think. I promise.”

“Do you want to know why?” Jemma grits out, finally meeting his eyes.

“Why what?” he asks, voice thin.

“Why they’ve killed the project?”

He doesn’t say anything. HIs jaw tightens, teeth grinding together to hte point of pain.

“You didn’t show up and she said that it’s proof that you and I are out of sync again. She compared it to what happened on The Whole Time—““

“Don’t,” he growls. The mention of his breakdown and the implication of what it did to them is more than he can take now. “Do not throw that in my face.”

“I don’t have to,” she counters. “This isn’t even about us anymore, Fitz, if you can’t keep It together and show up on time, your career—“

“Don’t talk about my career!” he shouts. She flinches, powerfully, and he instantly deflates in his anger. He hadn’t mean to raise his voice and he fights to keep it under control. 

“Your career is my career,” she admits weakly. “Everyone wants FitzSimmons. But nobody is convinced we can even give them that anymore. Can we?”

There is a long moment of tense silence as he tries to figure out what the hell to say next. His heartbeat thumps so loudly in his chest that he can hardly hear anything else, but her rapid, panicked breathing cuts through the noise. He looks at her, in her undone robe and her messy hair, and then down at himself, dressed in last night’s rumpled clothes. They look like a car crash that no one walked away from.

“I needed you, and you left,” he finally says. Her comments about The Whole Time have dredged it all up and he can’t lock it back up again. “And why? Because you thought I was useless?”

“I never thought that!” she explodes. “After what happened to your mother, I completely understood that you needed some time, but Fitz, what you did—“

She pointedly only mentions his mother, dodging any reference to Penny. They hardly say her name, dance around her ghost as if it’s stuck between them.

“I never should have called you.”

Her breath hitches and he knows he’s crossed a line with that one. “Fitz—“

“I shouldn’t’ve,” he persists, and he means it. That afternoon on his apartment floor is what ruined everything. It broke something between them that he can’t seem to get back no matter how hard he tries. 

“You would have died.”

He shrugs his shoulders, defeated and broken. Sure, he might have. Or maybe he would have called 911 himself, tried to keep it out of hte papers and away from her. Anything to keep her from looking at him the way she has ever since–like he’s some shattered thing she can’t fix. Like he’s an old family heirloom full of sentimental value but whose use has long since passed. 

“I’m not sorry that I was there to call 911,” she murmurs. “I will always be sorry that you felt that way, and that I couldn’t help you sooner…”

“Why did you leave then?” he demands. It’s the first time he’s ever asked but at this point, he figures that it can’t make things any worse than they already are. 

The silence following his question stretches out between them. When she finally speaks, he can hardly hear her. “I can’t do this. I need to shower.” 

“Why did you leave?” he asks again. He rubs at his eyes and keeps trying. “Jemma. Why did you leave? Is it because—because of what I said that day?”

It’s the first time either of them has referenced his drug-hazed confession and she scoffs, slamming her shower door open and turning the water on. She looks at him with a combination of incredulity and disgust. 

“Do you honestly think me so petty? Besides, you weren’t in your right mind—“

“I meant what I said,” he asserts, squaring his shoulders and trying to make himself as brave as possible as he lays his heart on the line for the second time. This isn’t the best moment for this conversation and he doesn’t even know why he’s doing it. It can only end badly for him, and Jemma ignores it. She plows forward. 

“Your doctor told me that I was making you worse, Fitz. So I took the role in Hydra when Phil offered it to me. He knew that I needed to leave and it was filming in New York.”

He stumbles backward, suddenly feeling like he can’t breathe. How had he not known? How had no one ever told him?  

“Mack? Mack said that?”

She nods resolutely. “Yes, he did. And I suppose it’s time you knew that, but Fitz, he was right. And none of this, none of this is why you’re here. I can’t…I can’t just ignore what you did today. You knew how much this movie meant to me.”

“It means so much to me, too,” he pleads, stepping onto the marble and trying once again to hold her. He wants to feel the warmth of her, he wants the comfort of knowing that she’s still here, solidly in front of him and not some figment of a desperate imagination. He stops in his tracks at the steeling look in her eyes. warning. 

“Jemma, we have worked so hard on this project, we poured everything into it. You have to know how important it is to me.”

“Apparently not enough,” she sniffs, looking toward the ceiling in a useless effort to keep her tears in her eyes. “I think you should go.”“

“What? We’re not done—“ he says. This conversation isn’t over and he knows if he leaves, things won’t ever be resolved. This is what always happens. They start fights that they don’t have the guts to finish and the unspoken words languish between them until there’s no way to stitch up the wounds. 

“We are,” Jemma gasps out. HIs hands tighten into frustrated, impotent fists at his sides. “We are done.”

Every muscle his face goes slack. He stares at her, disbelieving, and has the fleeting thought that all big moments in his life have started and ended with Jemma Simmons and her big, glassy hazel eyes. He turns on his heel and leaves, unable to look at her any longer. Every glance at her eyes pierces him. He slams the bathroom door behind him, a sob ripping from his throat as he fists at his hair. Widget runs around in desperate little circles at his feet.

“You take good care of her, okay?” he cries pitifully, kneeling down to pat the dog one last time. He hears her cry loudly, a guttural noise that makes all of his limbs go numb.

She deserves better than this. She always has and it’s finally occurred to him that he never should have let her come back into his life anyway. She was better off without him. 

He takes a moment to collect himself when he gets back into his Porsche, and then he dials Mack’s familiar number. There’s a conversation that they desperately need to have. 


	100. Soulmates and Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "the name of your enemy on one wrist, the name of your soulmate on the other, and there's no way to know which one is which in advance. Jemma has "Fitz" written on one wrist and the name you want on the other, and since Fitz doesn't talk to her, she thinks Fitz is her enemy and Other is her soulmate"

“I think we’re probably the youngest ones here,” seventeen year old Jemma Simmons says to the boy beside her. “My name is Jemma. Dr. Jemma Simmons.” 

He clears his throat, shifting the pile of books in his arms so that he can stretch his hand out in introduction. “Fitz.” 

“Just Fitz?” she asks dubiously. “I thought you had to have at least one doctorate to get into this place.” 

He colors, nodding in agreement. “Well, yeah, I mean, technically it’s uh–Dr. Fitz.” 

“Is there a name between the Doctor and the Fitz?” she teases. She hopes she doesn’t sound too pushy. It’s the first day at the Academy, after all, and they’re both at least five years younger than almost everyone else. 

“Leo,” he says through gritted teeth. Jemma stares down at her right wrist, where the name _Leopold_ is printed in a light blue. 

He’s either her soulmate or her enemy, but the way that the muscle in his jaw twitches as he glances down at her name, _Jemma_ , etched on his left wrist, tells her that this mop-headed seventeen year old boy from her side of the pond is going to be her enemy after all.

 _Pity_ , she thinks. _We could have really got on_. 

*** 

She spends the next three years trying to be better than him, and then the three years after that trying to rise up in the SHIELD ranks faster than he can. Unfortunately, he keeps pace with her. Just when she thinks she has him beat–after all, she’s been asked to join an exclusive mobile unit with a back-from-the-dead Agent Coulson–he manages to ruin it.

He’s on SHIELD 616 when she gets there. She huffs as soon as she sees him, barking out orders to technicians in the hangar. 

“No, no, that’s all wrong!” he shouts at one. “If you clip that, the entire control system goes down!” 

He storms past her, not even seeing her, and mumbles to himself. 

“Bloody idiots.” 

“You could try being nice!” she calls after him in a sing-song voice. It’s the one he’s hated for as long as she’s known him, syrupy sweet and just the right amount of patronizing. 

He, of course, has cultivated his own version of this. He raises the pitch of his voice and (rather childishly, in her opinion) morphs his Scottish brogue into an atrocious approximation of her Sheffield accent. 

“I’ll be nice when they learn how to do their fucking jobs,” he growls over his shoulder. He seems unfazed to see her here, and she wonders if he already knew. But if he did, then why take the job? 

Now they’ll be stuck on this plane together for at least one year, probably more. Squaring her shoulders, she vows to herself that she’s not going to let Leopold Fitz ruin her chance at seeing the world while saving it by doing science. This is the opportunity of a liftime, and she won’t pass it up. Enemy or no enemy. 

She and Fitz are both startled by someone dropping a bag loudly. They turn around in tandem and the handsome man in a tailored suit looks them up and down in distaste. 

“FitzSimmons?” he drawls. 

Jemma and FItz look at each other in annoyance. It’s not the first time that someone has combined their last names into one, and it’s also not the first time that they’ve both hated it. 

“Fitz,” Jemma snaps. She points over at him and Fitz returns the gesture.

“Simmons. I’m engineering, she’s _biochem_.” 

Jemma snorts gracelessly. “And of course you have to say it like that, as if biochemistry isn’t a perfectly reputable field. While you’re messing around with your legos and play sets, I’m curing disease and studying alien anatomy–” 

“Oh, alien anatomy, is it??” Fitz snaps back. “Because last I checked, you just dissect perfectly harmless, sweet little animals like _cats_!” 

“Enough!” the man barks. “Agent Grant Ward. I’ll be the Ops agent on this team and I won’t put up with this crap from either of you. Either get along or shut up. Preferably just shut up.” 

As soon as Jemma hears his first name, her heart stops. Grant. The name on her left wrist. She stares down at it and then desperately tries to catch a glimpse of the Ops agent’s wrist. His sleeves cover them, though, and she sighs in resignation. She doesn’t notice Fitz slink off, crestfallen. 

*** 

As is SHIELD protocol, Grant Ward hides his wrists at all times with cuffs, even when he’s exercising. That doesn’t stop Jemma from doing her best to see them. Their new suspect-turned-consultant Skye has the name Antoine on one wrist and Raina on the other. 

Ward seems disappointed by this until he spots his first name on Jemma’s left wrist. 

He starts being nice to her, almost overly so. He gets in the way in the lab and invites her to play board games, just the two of them. He’s handsome and brave and there’s certainly something attractive about that, but he doesn’t understand a word that she’s saying, he makes fun of her cardigans and fashion choices, and he makes assumptions about her character that agitate her. 

Jemma decides that people have really blown this whole “soulmate” thing out of proportion, and it no longer surprises her that her own mother had married her enemy instead of her soulmate. How the hell are you supposed to tell the difference? 

Because Fitz makes her laugh, and he picks up the ends of all of her sentences. He hands her things she needs but haven’t even asked for yet, and he lights up when she has a great idea. He still agitates her to no end; he eats too loudly, constantly makes absurd suggestions like getting a monkey  for the lab, and sticks his foot in his mouth around Skye. 

She finds his crush on Skye to be the most irritating thing about him. Crushes are illogical in their world. You’re either meant to be with someone or you aren’t, and you know right away if your name is on one of their wrists. Leopold isn’t anywhere on Skye’s wrists. 

She’s never seen Fitz’s other wrist, the one that doesn’t have her name on it. Perhaps _Skye_ is printed there. She’s heard stories, of soulmates not matching up. She pities him if that’s the case, but his puppy dog affection for the pretty hacker agitates her regardless of his motive. It irritates her more and more the closer that she grows to Fitz. Their tight living quarters force her to release her grip on her long-standing grudge against him. It’s not that uncommon that enemies are forced to work together. Many even find a way to become quasi-friends. 

She catches a glimpse of Melinda May’s wrists when she goes into the common area in the middle of the night for a glass of water and finds her doing Tai Chi. In the dim light, she sees _Philip_  on one wrist, _Katya_ on the other. They meet eyes and Jemma scampers away. She tells no one what she saw and May never mentions it again. 

The next day, they’re called to investigate a mysterious death. A Boy Scout Leader, found dead and suspended in mid-air. Fitz is the only one who doesn’t chastise her for her blatant excitement at the strange phenomenon. They speak rapidly over one another as they try to explain this anomaly to Coulson. 

He holds up his hand to stop them. “Let’s try that again.” 

“No clue, sir,” Fitz winces.

“Hell if I know,” Jemma scoffs with a shrug. 

“Well let’s figure this out,” Coulson orders. 

*** 

She contracts the virus. The incurable alien virus, and there’s nothing that she can do about it. She works and works, trying to find an answer, and Fitz stands on the other side of the glass. He works in silence, creating a mechanism that can deliver an antiserum as an electric pulse. 

It’s the most afraid she’s ever seen him. He hadn’t looked this way when he’d been dared to kiss her in the Boiler Room, or that time some Ops agents thought it would be funny to stage a kidnapping of the too-smart-for-his-own-good engineering cadet. He didn’t look this afraid when they were being shot at in Peru or when Coulson’s former protege tried to kill them. 

Predictably, the silence doesn’t last for very long because even more predictably, they fight. 

“I’m pretty sure that every minute of every day, you’ve been stuck in a lab right beside me. At the academy, at Sci-Ops, this plane. You’ve been beside me the whole damn time!” 

They both freeze, chests heaving as they stare into each other’s eyes. The intensity of the moment is too much for her, and she looks away. 

“You have to fix this,” he croaks, voice cracking. 

“I don’t know how, Fitz. Nobody has survived this. There’s nobody to make an anti-serum _from.”_

“Except for…” 

“…the Chitauri that was wearing the helmet!” Jemma exclaims. “Fitz, that’s it!” 

“I’ll see if I can swab the helmet and get some cells,” he rushes out, dashing up the stairs toward the main part of the plane. She paces in her containment and looks up when he slams the button to open the lab doors. 

“Fitz, I don’t know what you think you’re doing–” 

“We’re gonna fix this,” Fitz says, tone decisive. “Together.” 

“But–” 

“Just try to keep your hands off me, yeah?” he teases. It draws a small laugh from her and she rolls her eyes. 

“That won’t be a problem.” 

It’s a lie. She’s never wanted to touch someone so badly in her life. She wants to fling herself into his arms and never let him go, this curly-haired fast-talking blue-eyed boy that has been the only constant in her life since she was seventeen. 

She’s taken his presence for granted, she decides. She’s never appreciated him for challenging her mind and pushing her to be better. She hasn’t ever paid close enough attention to his wry sense of humor, the endearing awkwardness that he carries around with him. 

If she survives this, she’ll appreciate him more. She’ll be nicer to him. She’ll spend more time with him, snap at him less, and maybe even try to help him with his crush on Skye. 

Even with death breathing down her neck, they manage to work as easily as they always have. She wonders how much more they could have accomplished if she hadn’t spent the last ten years pushing him away. Jemma risks a glance through the glass at Ward. He paces along with the rest of them, shoulders tense. He meets her eyes and quickly looks away. She sees nothing there, feels nothing. 

It doesn’t make sense for Ward to be her enemy, but it makes even less sense for him to be her soulmate. There are probably millions of men named Grant in the world. Leopold is far less common, though, and she’s sure that this Leopold, her Fitz, must be the one on her wrist. 

The rats die. A part of her dies with them. Her mortality clicks by, the seconds ticking each breath away. Fitz becomes more and more frantic, and their teammates give them space. When the last rat dies, Jemma requests Coulson to come closer to the glass.

“Sir, I know the standard protocol in these circumstances,” she gets out through her building tears. “But…could you tell my dad first? I think my mum will take it better, if it comes from him.” 

Coulson swallows hard. “We’re not there yet.” 

“Sir, please.” 

He finally nods, resolutely. She looks around at her teammates, this strange group of misfits that feel like family. 

“Could I please have a moment alone with Fitz?” 

She expects there to be more surprise from the rest of the team, but there isn’t. May leads a crying Skye back up the staircase. Ward lingers behind for one moment, staring at the two scientists behind the glass. Coulson is the last to leave, and when he does, Fitz clears his throat. 

“I think we have a winner this time. The calibration is much better this time, the antiserum should be delivered with a pulse of–” 

“Antiserum,” Jemma says with a watery smile. “You finally got it right, Fitz.” 

He doesn’t even look at her as she slowly raises the fire extinguisher up toward the back of his head. She knows what she has to do, but it doesn’t make it any easier. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, voice thick. She’s sorry for what she’s about to do. She’s sorry for what she’s done. She’s sorry for letting her own fears of ending up like her parents, married to her enemy, get in the way of what could have been the most beautiful partnership of her life. 

Even with her walls and her distance, she realizes that it still has been. Then she slams the fire extinguisher onto the back of his neck as hard as she can. He hits the ground with a low groan and she swallows back her guilt, rapidly typing the code to lower the cargo ramp of the plane and initiating a locking sequence to the lab doors. It will give her one minute. She moves as quickly as she can, fully aware that the team will be notified by the BUS’s security system. 

When Jemma reaches the edge of the cargo hold, the strength of the wind traveling 500 miles per hour whips at her hair and she struggles to hold on to her footing. She can’t resist one glance back at him, expecting to find him in a crumpled heap on the ground. 

He’s standing, blue eyes lighting up with recognition at what she’s doing, what she’s trying to save them all from. He slams his fists against the glass that she’s locked him behind. She can see his mouth screaming her name but for once, he’s not calling her Simmons.

Jemma, she can see his lips form. The name on his visible wrist. 

She tears her eyes from him, and then she falls. 

*** 

After she and Ward have been plucked out of the ocean off of the coast of Morocco, she seeks him out. She feels the need to find him, explain what she did. She wants to thank him for giving her the hope to keep going. She’d have stopped. She’d have given up and she certainly never would have created the antiserum that actually worked. 

She knocks on his bunk, an irregular series of knocks out of nervousness. He calls for her to come in and she shuts the door behind her. There’s nowhere else to sit but on his narrow bed beside him, and she does so with a little jitter in her gut. 

“I was going to do it,” he says. “I had the antiserum and the chute, I just couldn’t get the straps to–” 

“Fitz, please,” Jemma interrupts. “I know.” 

“I may not have been able to–to do the whole James Bond mid-air thing, but–” 

“It wasn’t Ward in that lab with me, giving me hope when I had none,” Jemma says. “It was you. You’re the hero, Fitz.” 

“Yeah?” he asks. She shyly meets his eyes. 

“Yeah.” 

Impulsively, she leans over and kisses him on the cheek. It leaves a little spark on her lips. She tries not to think about the fact that Ward diving through the sky and wrapping her around him hadn’t felt nearly as electrifying as this one brief touch of her lips to his skin. 

Later, when she’s sitting beside him for nine of the longest days of her life and Skye asks her when everything changed, this is the moment she will think of. 

But that’s not what she’ll tell Skye. She makes something up, instead, because this moment is for the two of them. 

*** 

When she wakes in a med pod at the bottom of the ocean, the first thing she does is roll over and stare up at Fitz. 

“I’m an idiot,” she breathes. She stares down at her wrists, both a little bruised from the fall. Leopold and Grant stare back up at her. 

How could she have ever thought that smart, pasty, handsome Leo Fitz would be her enemy? The only person who could match her stride for stride, the only other person in the world who could understand being seventeen with two PhDs and a million questions. 

“Hey, don’t do that,” he says. “I’m the one who didn’t want to believe he was Hydra. Anyhow, I’m glad you’re awake.” 

They sit there in that pod, talking about what comes next. He smiles at her in a way that melts her down to nothing and she finally gathers up the courage to ask him.

“Is it Skye?” she asks. He frowns at her, tilting his head to the side.

“What?” 

“Is it Skye? On your other wrist,” she says, nodding at his watch. “You’ve always kept it covered.” 

He swallows and shakes his head. “No. No, it’s not Skye.” 

“Who is it?” she asks, voice hardly a whisper. An irrational part of her feels a pang of jealousy. What if she really is his enemy? After everything she’s done to him over the years, she wouldn’t necessarily be surprised. 

It’s not unheard of, for a person to be their soulmate’s enemy. 

He clumsily unhooks the watch with his one good hand and turns his wrist over so that she can see it in the dim blue light of the Pod. 

“Leopold,” she reads aloud. “Are you…your own soulmate?” 

He laughs derisively. “No. Leopold is also my dad’s name. It’s why I hate the name so much, actually.” 

“Your dad is your enemy,” she murmurs. He looks away from her and nods. She so deeply wants to press the issue but she doesn’t. “And that makes me–” 

“We don’t have to do this,” he says, eyes pleading with her to stop. “We need to find a way out of here.” 

His voice means business and even though they’ve already exhausted practically every other option, they eventually find a way to blow out the window with the defib machine. 

That’s when they realize that there’s only enough oxygen for one. 

“I’m not taking it,” Jemma says sternly. “You can’t make me do this, you’re my soulmate!” 

The words echo in the pod and he shakes his head, holding back tears that break her heart into pieces. “Yeah, well you’re more than that, Jemma. I didn’t have the courage to tell you…so please, let me show you.” 

She takes in a shuddering breath, a half-sob. More than a soulmate. How can someone even be more than that? She throws herself into his arms and peppers his face with kisses, reveling in the way that he still tries to comfort her, even facing his own impending death. 

When he turns and blows out the window, she screams. Then she takes the breath, grabs onto his sweater, and drags him back up with her. After all, they’ve cheated death together once. What’s one more go at it? 

***

When Fitz wakes up after nine long, excruciating days, he can’t speak. He grasps for her desperately, though, eyes scared and panicked and she knows that he remembers her. She traces her name on his wrist–the one that is now attached to an almost-useless hand, and she decides in that moment that she will do whatever it takes for him to get better. 

She understands now, how someone can be more than your soulmate. 

And that’s why, when Fitz can’t speak in only her presence, when he begins to break things and cry and sink into long bouts of depression when he can’t find his words, she takes the job offer from Coulson. 

He’ll hate her. She knows it. 

For three long months, all she has of him is a video message on her phone and his name written on her wrist. She traces it each night before she sleeps.

“Goodnight, Fitz,” she whispers. 


	101. Real SHIELD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jemma was a part of Real SHIELD

Jemma finds him in his bunk, packing up his things. “Fitz, please…” 

She trials off; she’s not even sure where she intends to go with her statement. She wants him to stay. That’s what she wants, but she has no idea how to convince him of that. Fitz whirls on her, face tight with anger and resentment. It stings, but it’s an expression she’s grown accustomed to since the day he woke from his coma. 

“What?” he snaps. “What could you…what do you want to say to me?” 

“Bobbi approached me after Hydra,” Jemma explains hurriedly, closing his bunk door behind her. “I know that Fury directly placed Coulson is charge, but that doesn’t mean that SHIELD should be run that way. If we’ve learned anything from the Hydra invasion, it’s that SHIELD as a whole needs more accountability. There has to be checks and balances. With all of these levels and superiors, everyone operates as essentially free agents.” 

“You never had an issue with…with any of that before,” Fitz says through gritted teeth. 

“I never had an issue with it until it nearly cost me you,” she fires back. He stumbles back in surprise and her lips part with shock at the words that spilled from her on their own accord. She takes a deep breath and tries again. “Ward was able to sleep in SHIELD for years because of his connection to Garrett. Garrett had the power to do that because of his seniority, because he had Fury’s ear–” 

Fitz shakes his head at her. “Ah, I see–I see what this is. You’re so mad that I’ve changed, so disappointed with what I am now that you’d rather betray all of your–all of your friends than face that!” 

His voice raises into a shout and tears burn at her eyes. 

“That’s not it at all!” she yells back. “I don’t know how many times I can try to explain–” 

“There is no explanation.” 

“Stop it!” she practically screams. His bad hand begins to shake. “You never let me _finish_. Let me finish what I’m trying to say.” 

He scoffs and raises his eyebrows. “You’re one to talk.” 

She glares at him and attempts to compose herself. “I don’t care about your injuries, Fitz. I care about the fact that for nine of the longest days of my life, I thought you were never going to wake up. I care about the fact that I had to drag you up from the bottom of the ocean and when we reached the top you looked _dead_.”

He swallows hard and opens his mouth to respond but she cuts him off again. 

“And Coulson lied to me while I was away,” she continues. She’s not sure when, but at some point she’s begun crying. She hardly notices as he presses on. “I asked him several times how you were doing. I had made it _clear_ that if you weren’t getting better without me–” 

“What do you mean?” Fitz interrupts. “Getting better without you?” 

“That’s why I left,” she half-sobs. “I was making you worse, Fitz. Even…even Mack saw it, as soon as I came back.” 

“That’s not true,” Fitz breathes. “You didn’t…I got so much worse without you.” 

“Skye told me. But then you got better,” Jemma agrees. “She…she told me before she went to the safe house. She wanted me to know about…about your hallucinations, and Fitz I never would have stayed away.  If Coulson had been honest with me, if he had even told Skye where I was and she could have told me, I would have come back.” 

He leans back onto his desk, covering his face with his hands. She’s completely overwhelmed him with all of this information in one day. 

“Please, Fitz,” Jemma whimpers. “Please stay here with me. Please, listen to what Bobbi and Mack have to say.” 

“Hunter and Coulson are out there,” Fitz says, putting his hands back down and gripping the side of the desk. “I can’t just leave them on their own. He’s not perfect but he’s…he’s Coulson.”

Jemma knows exactly what he means. It hurts, badly, to betray Coulson this way. Almost as badly as it hurt to hide one more secret from Fitz. Fitz’d gotten her back, though, by hiding Skye’s powers from her for so long.  There are too many secrets between them, she decides. More secrets in the last several months than in ten entire years of friendship. 

Coulson had lead them on suicide missions under shady motives, nearly gotten their entire team killed in that alien temple, and had a tendency to let his own goals and directives interfere with the welfare of his team. When they’d first joined the BUS team, Jemma had gotten the impression that the “one life is worth less than the many” policy didn’t seem to apply to Coulson; over the course of the last year, however, that has changed. 

But so has she. Taking a deep breath, Jemma decides. At Hydra, she had told them that her loyalties were with science.

That had been half-true, because for her, half of science is Fitz. Her loyalties have always been with his blue eyes.

“I’ll come with you,” she says. “Let me come with you.” 

“How do I know I can trust you?” he asks, clenching and unclenching his bad hand. It feels like a knife to her gut and she has to brush away a stray tear before she can answer him.

“Because you’re still my best friend in the world,” she finally settles on. “Even if…even if I’m not yours anymore.” 

For the first time, his expression softens and he shuffles tentatively toward her. She holds her breath, chest burning with each step he takes in her direction. When he wraps his arms around her waist she exhales, half-breath half-sob, and presses herself against him as tightly as she can. 

“We won’t have much time before another engineer figures out that it’s a decoy,” Fitz murmurs into her hair. She grins against his neck. 

“I already knew it was a decoy.” 

He chuckles, a watery sound that still sends butterflies off in her stomach. “Jemma, you should stay here.” 

His words are like a bucket of ice water dumped over her head. “But…why?” 

“You’re already in with them,” he says quietly. “If you really mean it, about standing by me and–” 

“Of course I do.” 

“Good, well…then I’ll need a contact on the inside. I need you to cover for me, pretend like you’re still trying to open the decoy box. As soon as they figure out that it’s fake, they’ll send someone after me.”

Jemma squares her shoulders and nods. “Okay. Yes. I’ll…I’ll stay. I’ll be your cover. But please…will you at least keep in touch?” 

He smiles crookedly and reaches into his pack, handing her a cell phone. “It’s an encrypted line. I was going to leave it in your bunk before I left, just…just in case you changed your mind.” 

Her heart swells and she leans forward to press her lips to his cheek. She catches the corner of his mouth and she wonders if his entire body goes numb like hers does. She pulls back slightly, just far enough to look at him. His eyes remain closed, and before she can talk herself out of it, she gently runs her fingertips over his cheek and kisses his lips, slow and soft. 

She pulls away, tentative, and his tongue immediately darts out to lick his lips. 

“We never spoke about what you said at the bottom of the ocean,” Jemma finally whispers when his eyes flutter open. He inhales sharply and attempts to turn away from her. 

“There’s nothing to discuss, Jemma.” 

She grabs his wrist before he can and spins him back toward her. She’s spent the better part of the last year watching him leave and she’ll have to do it again this afternoon, but this can’t wait. She’s not sure when she’ll see him again (and it’s a when, it is always a when, there is no if about them). 

“Maybe there is.” 

He stares at her, practically gaping, and then takes two quick strides to tug her by the waist, kissing her deeply. She immediately melts into it, vaguely embarrassed by her breathy sigh, and she can’t help but smile as he pulls away looking dazed.

“I’m still mad at you,” he says, a bit unconvincingly. 

“I know you are,” she agrees. “But I’ll make it up to you. Just…come back to me, Fitz.” 

An hour later, she sneaks the sandwich into his bag, taking great care as she writes the words _love, Jemma._ She hopes he understands.


	102. Starting Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 3x11

Jemma yawns loudly, shaking her head as she enters the kitchen as though she can knock the sleepiness right out of herself. She smiles when she sees Fitz already up and moving about, making tea.

“Ooh, could you make me a cup?” she asks. “I’m so tired.” 

Fitz turns around with a furrowed brow. “I mean, sure, I can. What kind of tea do you like?”

She frowns. “You know exactly what kind of tea I like.” 

“We’ve only just met, Simmons,” Fitz teases. “It’d be a bit weird for me to know that, don’t you think?” 

Despite the early hour, she can’t help but giggle into her hand. “Alright, you don’t have to take this so literally.” 

“Take what so literally?” he deadpans. “You’re an odd one.” 

He still makes her the tea, sliding it in front of her on the counter with a cheeky little smile that sends her pulse racing. She’s missed seeing that look on her face. 

“Let’s just hope you can keep up with me in the lab, hm? I hold my partners to an incredibly high standard.” 

“As do I,” she says primly. “But I think we’ve got good chances.” 

He makes his way to the door, throwing one last comment over his shoulder. “This is a lot easier when I haven’t spent _months_ trying to come up with something smart enough to say to you.” 

She puzzles through his statement for a moment before deciding that it’s simply too early for this kind of thing. Jemma takes a long sip of her tea and sighs in contentment. Despite his teasing, he’s made it exactly the way she likes it. 

*** 

The sirens of the base are blaring around them. Jemma and Fitz rush around each other in the darkness of the lab, frantically trying to access their information even as Hydra attempts to hack into their research. 

“God, this is like that bloody ghost all over again,” Jemma huffs as another set of lights goes out. 

“What ghost?” Fitz asks, clacking away blindly at a keyboard and not removing his eyes from the screen. She knows he has to finish copying the file onto a harddrive before Hydra knocks out another block of power. 

“Ugh, Fitz!” she exclaims. “Now is not the time!”

“I don’t know anything about ghosts,” Fitz keeps playing. 

“You’re driving me crazy,” Jemma warns, but her heart’s not in it. In the dim glow of the screen, she sees the edges of his lips quirk up as he slams the enter key and unplugs the harddrive. Just a second later, the lab goes completely black and she can’t see him at all. 

“I don’t know you all that well,” he whispers dramatically. “So I guess I should probably ask…you’re not afraid of the dark, are you?” 

***

“I’ve made you some lunch,” Jemma greets, placing the sandwich and crisps down in front of him. “You’ve been working all day long and you need a break.” 

He hardly glances up at her, focused through his little goggles that she finds so strangely endearing. “I’m not hungry.” 

“Oh please, you’re always hungry.” 

He sighs and puts the glasses on top of his head. “I think I’ve come up with a headgear mechanism that would disable Mr. Paraleyes.” 

“We’re not calling him Paraleyes.” 

“It works on two levels!” he protests. She gives him a pointed look. 

“Eat your sandwich, Fitz.” 

She watches him a bit too closely, trying her best to look nonchalant as he takes a bite. His eyes open comically wide and he releases a dramatic moan.

“Oh my god,” he murmurs. “This sandwich is heavenly, Simmons. Easily my new favorite sandwich. What’s in it?” 

She can’t resist humoring him. “Prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella.”

He crinkles his nose thoughtfully, swallowing his giant mouthful of food. “Hmm, tastes like there’s a little something else.” 

“My homemade pesto aioli,” she beams. He winks at her.

“Just a hint.” 


	103. Huntingbird + All I Want Is You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place shortly after going on the run

“You want to settle down,” Bobbi says numbly, falling back onto her chair. “The house, the fence, the…the kids.” 

Hunter’s brow furrows, a frown forming on his lips. “Bob, you knew that. You’ve always known I eventually wanted that.” 

She shuts her eyes and huffs. “I guess I forgot.” 

“What’s going on?” he asks worriedly. “Because that’s all down the line for me. For both of us. Everything is about to change. We’ve got nothing now. All we’ve got is each other so please, don’t leave me now.” 

Her eyes fly open and she reaches across to grab onto his knee, knuckles white. “Of course I’m not leaving you.” 

He rolls his eyes, obviously frustrated. “Not like you even have a choice in that at this point. The whole world is after us.” 

“That’s not true,” Bobbi protests. “We both know I’d be fine on my own. I don’t want to be on my own. I want to be with you.” 

“Then why the hell are we talking about fences and kids and dogs?” Hunter asks. 

“Because you mentioned it!” she explodes. “And I forgot! I forgot that we didn’t know a single thing about three fucking years of each other’s lives, Hunter!” 

“Bobbi…” 

“So you don’t know,” Bobbi continues, voice dropping in volume. Her eyes burn with tears and Hunter swallows hard. It’s not often that Bobbi cries, and every time she does it twists something inside of him. “You don’t know that I can’t have that. I can never have that.” 

“What are you on about? You know as well as I do that the world turns upside down fast, but it flips back over even faster,” Hunter soothes, running his hands over her arms. 

“I can’t have kids,” Bobbi finally admits. Her voice cracks and her hands shake where they lay on his chest, half-ready to shove him away. He holds on tighter. “I…I can’t. Physically.” 

One hand goes up to her hair, tenderly tucking a strand behind her ear and imploring her with his eyes to just look at him. She finally does and he sees the fear there, the flicker of insecurity.

“Bob,” he whispers. “Sure, I’d like to have that kind of life someday. But there’s lots of ways to get there. And I don’t want any of it if it’s not with you. The _only_ thing I want is you.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” 

“Hey, don’t be,” he says, tugging her into a hug. She nestles her face into his neck and exhales a shaking breath. “Don’t be sorry about anything.” 

“What about the time I shot you?” 

“You can definitely be sorry about that. But that’s the only thing,” he grins. She laughs lightly and pulls away to look at him. 

“Do you really think we’ll get a chance? To stop running?” 

Hunter shrugs. “I like to think so. If we don’t, I won’t mind.” 

Bobbi smirks. “Me either. As long as you learn to run a little faster. My legs are a lot longer than yours. You’re gonna have to keep up, cause I’d hate to leave you behind.” 

“Bloody menace,” he grumbles. She leans forward and kisses the pout off of his face. 

Once upon a time they said till death do us part; now, they’re wanted dead or alive. 


	104. The Oscars (Hollywood AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz and Jemma win their first Oscars.

Wanda Maximoff reads through the list of nominees, showing a brief clip from each film. Jemma has always admired Wanda’s performances and it’s startling to hear her name come out of her mouth. Even more than that, it’s disorienting to hear her name in a list with some of the greatest actresses alive. 

Peggy Carter, Jean Grey, Mary Jane Watson, Angie Cartinelli, and _Jemma Simmons_.

Her breath catches as Wanda opens the envelope. Fitz sits beside her, grabbing onto her hand to keep her nails from breaking the skin of her palm. He gives her an encouraging little smile and she focuses as best as she can on breathing and not looking completely insane. The cameras could be on her face at any moment. 

“And the Academy Award goes to,” Wanda says slowly, “Jemma Simmons, for Chemistry.” 

Her vision tunnels. Her mouth goes dry. Peggy Carter turns around to congratulate her. Peggy Carter, actual Peggy Carter, touches her knee, smiles, and says _congratulations, you deserve this_. 

“Jemma,” Fitz says into her ear. “Jemma, you’ve got to go up there. You’ve won.” 

She throws her arms around him, squeezing him as tightly as she can, and then stands on trembling legs to walk to the stage. Her eyes burn with tears and she blinks them back. She accepts the golden statue from Wanda and accepts her hug before approaching the podium. 

“Wow,” she breathes into the microphone. “I honestly can’t even believe this. Peggy Carter just touched me knee.” 

The crowd laughs and applauds and she feels her entire face burn hot. She wasn’t even trying to be funny.

“I didn’t write a speech. I thought it would be bad luck, so, um…well, first of all, I’m so incredibly honored to have been nominated alongside some of the most amazing actresses of our time. Each and every one of you inspires me in so many ways. I’d like to thank my managers, Phil Coulson and Melinda May, for holding my hand through this completely mad process. I’d also like to thank my mum and dad, for always pushing me to do better. To Penny and Brenda Fitz, for helping me get ready tonight and lastly, to Leo Fitz for being the most amazing co-star and friend a girl could ever ask for. We met making this film and already, you are my best friend in the world and I can’t imagine my life without you. My performance wouldn’t have been half as good opposite anyone else. To our amazing director, Nick Fury, and to the rest of the cast and crew that made this happen. Thank you so much.” 

She waves the little statue around, heavy in her arms, and catches Fitz’s eye in the crowd. He’s a bit teary, biting his lip and watching her with an expression she can’t quite place. He beams when he sees her looking at him, shooting her a thumbs up and a wink. She winks back and allows Wanda to lead her to the backstage area. 

“And now, to present the Academy Award for Lead Actor in a Motion Picture, Steve Rogers.” 

“This way,” Wanda murmurs, ushering Jemma deeper into the backstage area when she attempts to return to the audience. 

“What? No!” Jemma exclaims. “I’ve got to go back out there. Fitz is up next.” 

Wanda smiles softly. “You have to do some brief interviews, take pictures, all of that.” 

“I can’t,” Jemma insists. “I’ll do it later.” 

“It doesn’t work like that,” Wanda repeats more firmly.  She looks around desperately for someone to take over and spots Melinda. “Ms. May! Please, your girl wants to go back out there.” 

“Jemma,” May says as patiently as possible. “He’s fine. You have to stay here.” 

She resists the urge to stomp her foot like a petulant child and listens closely to the audio. Her eyes find the monitor backstage and she watches as Steve Rogers lists of the names and the clips from each film play. 

Bruce Banner, Scott Lang, Pietro Maximoff, Lincoln Campbell, and Leo Fitz. 

Steve opens the envelope and grins winningly into the camera. “And the Academy Award goes to…Leo Fitz, Chemistry.” 

She drops her Oscar. It clunks loudly on the floor and she shouts, arms flying up wildly into the air as the music plays. On the screen, Fitz’s eyes go completely wide. His mother, sitting beside him, begins openly crying and he leans over to kiss her on the cheek before approaching the stage. 

Something possesses her to run out of the wings, despite May’s shouts of protests and Coulson’s admittedly half-hearted attempt to keep her in place. She sprints, long gown nearly tripping her, and throws herself onto Fitz just as he grabs his award. He makes a little noise of surprise, stumbling back but reaching up to wrap his arms around her just a second later. 

The audience goes wild and she squeezes him even tighter. They did this. Together. 

He pulls away and nods toward the microphone. She laughs, not sure when she started crying but brushing the tears away as quickly as she can. Fitz approaches the podium and she stands awkwardly behind him, beside Steve Rogers. She looks up at the hulking superstar and suddenly feels incredibly tiny. 

“Wow, um…just…wow,” Fitz mumbles. 

“Speak up!” Jemma hisses to him as quietly as she can. The mics catch her and everyone laughs. 

“She’s always on me about my enunciation,” he jokes. “I flew out to L.A. from Scotland to audition for this and I never thought I’d actually get it. Thank you to my mum, for spending every last dime we had to get us here. To my little sister, Penny…I wouldn’t have had to learn to lie this well if it wasn’t for you. Thank you to Phil and Melinda, our amazing managers who have quite literally put out a fire that we started.” 

Everyone laughs again and Jemma hides her face in embarrassment. 

“To our director, Nick Fury, who scared the crap out of me when I first met him but pulled out the best performances from all of us. And to Jemma Simmons,” Fitz says, turning around briefly to look at her. The way he smiles at her makes her heart skip and she stumbles slightly in her heels. Steve Rogers reaches out to steady her. “I’m not at all surprised that you won tonight because I knew from the moment I met you that you were something special. I’m just so grateful that you let me be something special alongside you. I’ve never had a friend like you before and I’m so incredibly grateful that I’ve had the chance to work with you and get to know you. Sharing this experience with you has been life changing. Thank you all so much.” 

He turns around and sweeps her into another hug. Her feet briefly leave the floor and she squeaks, his Oscar bumping into her back rather painfully. Steve Rogers claps Fitz on the back and leans down to whisper to both of them as the music swells.

“Alright, love birds. Go get your pictures taken so you don’t miss the Best Picture noms.” 

They spring apart, blushing hotly. 

“Oh we’re not..” 

“She’s just my..” 

“…together.”

“…friend.” 

Steve smirks, brows raised and blue eyes sparkling. “My mistake. Congratulations to both of you. You’ve earned this.” 

He leaves them alone and Jemma and Fitz stand side by side, looking at the small area where they’re to take a quick photo and have their initial interviews. 

“So, what do you say?” Fitz asks, nodding toward the circus in front of them. “Together?” 

She reaches out and snatches his free hand, exhaling sharply. “Together.” 


	105. Meet You There (Hollywood AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How FitzSimmons became true friends

“No,” Jemma’s mother snaps. “Unacceptable.” 

“Mum,” Jemma pleads. “I just want to go get a snack. I’m peckish.” 

“You just ate two hours ago,” Victoria Simmons hisses. “And you look like a mess. It’s unprofessional for you to walk around the set looking this way.” 

Fitz freezes out front of the trailer. He feels guilty for eavesdropping, but he’d actually stopped by to see if Jemma was hungry. He’d grabbed a few extra snacks from the catering table. His mum had returned to Scotland a few days earlier, leaving him in the care of his new managers, Phil and Melinda. Brenda’s parting words had been an attempt to encourage him to bond with his new co-star. 

He and Jemma work amazingly well together. He can spout his lines off at her all day long, and they way they talk over and under each other with the wordy dialogue has earned them significant praise from their supporting cast and crew members. 

It’s the words that _aren’t_ written for him that he’s been struggling with. Jemma Simmons is beautiful and brilliant and brave, and he’s just…Fitz. 

He can’t imagine his mum ever speaking to him this way. She’d only ever really snapped at him when he was doing something dangerous. Staring at the snacks in his hands, he makes a choice. Shoving them into the pockets of his hoodie, he knocks on the trailer door. 

“Yes?” Christine asks, leaving very little room for him to see passed her into Jemma’s trailer.

“Hi Mrs. Simmons,” Fitz greets. “Melinda wanted to speak to you about a marketing campaign? I’m not sure what it all meant, but she thought you might want a say in the poster.” 

Victoria practically lights up. She breezes past him with a brisk nod and Fitz sighs with relief. Melinda already left set for the day, off to check on another one of her clients. Besides, he’s certain that Melinda May can handle Victoria Simmons. 

It’ll buy him enough time to sneak in, have a chat with her, and give her some snacks. This is his moment to be the hero. He knocks lightly. 

“Who is it?” 

“It’s me,” he says nervously. “Uh, Leo? Leo Fitz?” 

She laughs and swings open the trailer door, waving him in eagerly. 

“Hi Fitz,” she greets brightly. He notices redness around her eyes, the kind she has after she’s finished an emotional scene. 

“I thought you might be hungry,” he offers, holding out two granola bars and a small packet of crisps. Her entire body seems to melt with relief and she snatches them out of his hands eagerly.

“Oh, Fitz! Thank you so much,” she gushes. “I’m bloody starving and my mum is holding me hostage in this trailer.”

Fitz grimaces. “She’s a bit…intense, isn’t she?” 

Jemma rolls her eyes around a mouth full of granola. “You’ve no idea. If she was here, she’d only let me eat one of these.” 

“Well that’s just ridiculous,” he huffs. “You’re bloody perfect!” 

He blushes and looks away from her, missing the way that her full cheeks grow with a small smile. “If only my mum saw it that way. Anyway, it’s different for girls, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It’s really unfair, though. Shouldn’t be that way.” 

Her eyes soften and she tilts her head to the side. “You’re something special, Fitz.” 

“Huh?” he asks, gaping at her. 

“You are,” she says firmly. “I have an idea.” 

“What’s that?” 

“You’re staying at Phil’s, right?” 

“Right,” he confirms. “And you and your mum are…” 

“Staying at a rented apartment right down the block. There’s this Thai food place that smells absolutely delicious and they’re open really late.” 

He picks up on her hint and grins at her. “Sneak out and meet me there tonight?” 

“Yes!” Jemma practically shouts with enthusiasm. If her own excitement embarrasses her, she doesn’t show it. She leans forward and grips his arm. “My mum goes to bed around 10:30, but let’s make it 11:00 to be safe.” 

“Got it,” he agrees. Crinkles her nose in that way he thinks is really quite cute, popping a crisp into her mouth and shutting her eyes in contentment. “It’ll be fun. To hang out with you when we aren’t…ya know…working.” 

“Doesn’t feel like work to me,” Jemma shrugs. “At least, not my scenes with you.” 

He bites down on his lip to keep himself from grinning like a clown. “Yeah. Yeah, you either.” 

He’s ninety percent sure that’s not proper English but Jemma doesn’t seem to care. She opens her mouth to respond, but is cut off by the sound of loud high heels on the pavement outside the trailer. “Oh no!” 

“Shit,” he curses. “Sorry, I mean fuck. I mean, shoot!” 

She chokes on a laugh. “This isn’t the 1800s, Fitz. You can curse in front of me.” 

“Won’t get another chance to if your mum murders me when she finds me in here,” Fitz reminds her. 

“Right,” she says seriously. “Quick!” 

She shoves him into the tiny bathroom and he holds his breath. He hears Christine re-enter the trailer just as Jemma has disposed of the evidence of her food. “Jemma. What are you doing?” 

“Just tidying up a bit!” she says. Her voice is an octave too low, strangely enough. 

“Why are you being so strange?” 

“I’m just really hungry,” Jemma explains after a beat. “I think my blood sugar is low.” 

Christine huffs, annoyed. “Fine. I’ll go find you a piece of fruit. But one piece, young lady. That’s it. You’ve nearly met your calories for the day as it is.” 

“Yes, mum.” 

The trailer door shuts behind her and Jemma races to the bathroom, pulling open the door. As soon as their eyes meet, they both burst into giggles, desperately attempting to quiet themselves behind their palms. 

“I should go before she comes back,” Fitz manages to get out through his laughter. “But…I’ll see you at 11:00?” 

“See you then,” Jemma says. “You have my phone number?” 

Fitz shakes his head. “I’ll get it from Phil.” 

“Good. Send me a text message so I’ll have your number. That way I can call if I can’t get out.” 

He leaves with a little wink, passing Christine as she yells at an assistant about saturated fat content and Jemma’s _dietary needs_. 

At 11:15 that night, he sits across from her, watching her devour a massive plate of Pad Se Ew. She’s completely makeupless, in a pair of jeans and an ill-fitting tee shirt. She looks seventeen and hopeful, happy and healthy in the lighting of the restaurant. 

She laughs at his jokes and peppers him with questions about his family, a wistful look in her eye as he describes them. He walks her back to the apartment building and nearly forgets to hug her back when she throws her arms around him. 

“Thank you, Fitz,” she whispers. “I…I’ve never really had a friend before.” 

“Yeah?” he asks as she pulls away. “Neither have I.” 

“Good. Then we’ll both be new at it,” she says nervously. She smiles up at him and nods toward the front door. “I should go.” 

“Yeah. See you at work tomorrow.” 

“See you, Fitz.” 

He waits until he’s sure she’s made it inside, and just as he turns to walk away, he hears her voice. 

“Pst! Fitz!” 

He looks up and finds her hanging out of a third-story window. “Yeah?” 

“Goodnight.” 

“’Night, Jemma.” 


	106. Kidnapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FitzSimmons + Kidnapped by IT (Hive)

One moment, Fitz is beside her. In the next, the lights have gone out. Jemma reaches out wildly, trying to grab onto him. 

“Fitz?” 

Silence returns her call and the lights flicker back on. She spins around wildly in search of him. He’d been _right there_ , right beside her. He hadn’t made so much as a peep when the lights when out, even as she’d squeaked in surprise and a little bit of fear. 

She grabs her ICER and clicks off the safety. “Fitz?” 

She turns the nearest corner in the labrynth of Hydra hallways, breath caught in her throat. He has to be here somewhere. He has to be safe. Their first real mission back in the field and they’ve already been separated. 

 _Fucking cosmos_ , she curses in her head. 

“Hello, Jemma,” a familiar voice greets. It’s monotone and cold, a complete sense of detachment that Jemma isn’t sure Ward had ever really been capable of. She spins around and sees him–or rather, what used to be him–holding up an unconscious Fitz with some kind of swirling sand. 

“Fitz,” Jemma breathes. She swaps out her ICER for the flare gun at her side, hands steady. She can’t afford to get nervous now. Too much–everything–is on the line. 

“I remember everything,” Hive says thoughtfully. He steps forward and Jemma holds her ground, refusing to shrink back. Her finger itches to shoot the monster through the chest with the flare gun and finally, finally watch Grant Ward burn. But Fitz is unconscious, right there beside him. Jemma refuses to entertain the possibility that Fitz is dead. She’s unsure if whatever Hive is, however he takes over his hosts, can control living bodies. 

She won’t let him take Fitz. 

“Your astronaut lives here now,” Hive taunts, tapping at his temple. “I remember how you were in that bunker with him. So…cozy. I look forward to sharing those memories with him.” 

Jemma swallows hard and flickers her eyes toward Fitz. For a fleeting moment, she’s glad he’s unconscious. She just needs to get him out of here before Hive can hurt him, before he can take control of his beautiful mind and manipulate him with memories of her time with Will. 

“Your poor little Fitz. Resigned to second place,” Hive sighs. Her eyes widen and fly back to his face. “Surprised? Oh, Professor, I can hear everything.” 

“You can read my mind?” Jemma half-whispers. 

“Yes I can,” he answers simply. “For someone so smart, you really are so _simple_. You know, Agent Simmons, that knowledge is power. Perhaps you know that better than most.” 

She takes in a sharp breath. “Let him go.” 

“Oh, but I can’t,” Hive says. “You see, the good Dr. Fitz has something that I need, trapped in that brain of his.” 

“Take me instead,” she pleads. 

“You won’t do,” Hive shoots back. “I need his help. I need him to build something for me.” 

“I can build anything he can,” Jemma lies desperately. “He would tell you that himself, if you hadn’t knocked him out.” 

“That’s a lie. Only he can create what I need.” 

“Take me too,” she tries again. “Take us both. Together we’re twice as smart.” 

“Your favorite word,” Hive says hollowly. “Will Daniels knew that he was nothing but a shoddy replacement for him. But I’m counting on the fact that you haven’t told Fitz that yet. Take a good look at him, Professor. It’s the last time you’ll be seeing your little friend. Turns out you’re more separable than you seemed to think.” 

He twists his hand and the sand flies into Fitz’s mouth. His body convulses forward and Jemma screams. 

“NO!” 

“How does it feel?” Hive asks. “To know that loving you is a death sentence?” 

Fitz’s body collapses onto the floor and she races forward. He can’t be dead; Hive had just admitted to her that he needed him. Regardless, her fingers find his pulse. It thrums weakly and she rasps out a half sob. 

“You won’t take him without me,” Jemma growls, looking up at Hive through the tears burning her eyes. “I won’t let you. It’s both of us or nothing.” 

Hive sighs, appearing bored. “I’m through with her now.” 

A man with glasses melted onto his face appears as if from nowhere, through a small cloud of sand at Hive’s side. Jemma stares up at him in horror.

Everything goes black. She wakes up with a splitting headache and Daisy’s hand on her forehead. 

“Fitz,” Jemma moans. “Where is he?” 

“Hive got him,” Daisy says solemnly. Mack kneels beside her, eyes serious and haunted. “He got YoYo too.” 


	107. Saved (Continuation of Kidnapped)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the last ficlet.

“Jemma,” he groans, hardly conscious. His head lolls forward with the effort of speech and Jemma kneels in front of him. 

“Shh, Fitz, it’s okay. We’re going to get you out of here.” 

“You have to go,” he says weakly. “You need to get out of here now.” 

“I am not leaving without you,” she says fiercely, grabbing his face with her hands. She looks into his hazy eyes and tries her best to convince him. “I would never leave you behind.” 

“You have to,” he whimpers. “Jemma, he’s in my head. You’re not safe.” 

“Yes I am,” she insists. “You would never hurt me, Fitz. We can get you out of here.” 

The door bangs open and she whirls around, rushing to stand and face off with Hive. Her flare gun shoots up in front of her and she blocks Fitz with her body. 

“Fitz, keep your eyes closed.” 

“You think it’s that easy,” Hive observes dully. “Like I’ve said before, you’re so very simple for a genius.” 

“DAISY!” Jemma shouts out. Hive stiffens and Jemma wonders if it’s Ward’s memories gripping him. “MACK!” 

YoYo appears suddenly before her, hand gripping Jemma’s wrist. 

“YoYo, please!” Jemma begs in the half of a second before YoYo will snap back to behind Hive. 

The Inhuman drags Jemma back out into the hallway, leaving Fitz alone with Hive. Jemma lashes out, using her elbow to thrust upward against YoYo’s nose. “Elena,” Jemma grunts. “Elena, por favor. Yo se amo, yo necessito savarlo.” 

Elena blinks, the fog in her eyes subsiding for a moment. Her jaw slackens as Mack’s heavy footsteps run around the corner. 

“YoYo!” he calls out. She whips around to stare at him, releasing Jemma. Jemma raises her flare gun in front of her and leaps onto Hive’s back. It’s not the smoothest of movements, but Hive is a poor physical fighter. He relies on his powers of control and manipulation. On his back, he can’t look her in the eyes. He can’t ascertain her next move by reading her thoughts and he can’t send his sand to take her over either.

“Jemma,” Fitz whimpers on his chair. 

Jemma presses the flare gun against Hive’s temple. 

“You won’t leave without him,” Hive says. “And yet you let Will Daniels die for you. Such a selfish woman.” 

Jemma swallows down the guilt. “You have Ward’s memories, don’t you? I dragged him up from the bottom of the ocean. This is nothing.” 

She fires the flare into his head, the flames that engulf his skull burning her arm where it wraps around his neck. As he falls to the ground she does too. 

“Jemma, get away from him!” Daisy shouts. Jemma whirls around fast enough to see Daisy’s hand raise up. She quakes Jemma backward toward Fitz, stalking into the room with a mini containment unit the size of a splinter bomb. Daisy throws it forcefully on top of a small, wriggling object on the floor beside Ward’s flaming body. 

Jemma gasps in a deep breath, hands shaking as she rushes to undo Fitz’s restraints. She gets his wrists loose and feels tears burn her eyes when he makes no effort to move. 

“Fitz, come on. You’re free. Come with me.” 

He stays seated, blinking rapidly. His left hand shakes and Jemma covers it. 

“Fitz? Please, come back to me. Come back to me, Fitz.” 

Tears stream down her face now and Mack practically leaps over the flaming corpse to reach Fitz and Jemma. Mack hauls Fitz upward against Jemma’s protests.

“Alright Turbo, we’re getting you out of here.” 

Fitz immediately collapses, his knees hitting the stone floor. Jemma gasps and falls down beside him. “We need a medical evacuation,” Jemma snaps. “I told you not to move him. Get me Bobbi.” 

Daisy and Mack exchange a heavy glance. “Jemma, Bobbi is gone.” 

Jemma doesn’t have time to ask what that means. “He’s severely dehydrated. Probably malnourished as well. Mack, can you get him to Zephyr One?” 

“Of course I can,” he assures her. “Don’t worry, Simmons. We’ve got him from here, okay?” 

Despite his certainty, Jemma stays an inch behind him and follows Lincoln closely as the actual medical doctor administers an IV aboard Zephyr One. 

“Dr. Simmons, it would be helpful to me if you stepped back,” Lincoln suggests half-heartedly. She glares up at him and he raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, fair enough.” 

She told him she wouldn’t leave without him and she’s not going to leave this pod until he’s lucid. 


	108. Sickly

“Go to bed,” Fitz says firmly. Jemma practically sways on her feet when she tries to shake her head. “Jemma, you’re burning up for godssake. Just go rest.” 

“But–” 

“But nothing,” Fitz interrupts. “I’ve got it under control in here, okay?” 

Jemma looks over his shoulder to that damn lab tech that keeps making eyes at his ass. “If you need any help–” 

“Then I’ll ask another perfectly qualified scientist that doesn’t have the flu,” Fitz teases. “Seriously, go to bed. Please. I’ll come check up during lunch, alright?” 

She sighs, sniffling loudly. “Alright. I’ll go. But–” 

“If there is some kind of huge biochemical emergency, you’ll be the first to know about it.” 

She smiles slightly, even though it hurts her face to do so. “Alright. Fine. I give.” 

“Thank God.” 

She rolls her eyes and shoots a warning glare to the lab tech with the wandering eye. She reaches the hallway where the entire team leaves and freezes. Biting her lip, she turns away from her own bunk and heads toward Fitz’s. 

Back at the Academy, before they got their SciOps apartment together, she’d always stayed in his room when she was ill. He would sleep beside her despite the risk of infection and take care of her. Their “new start” had her feeling all kinds of nostalgic lately. She types in his passcode, 1856 (the birth year of Nikola Tesla, of course). The door clicks open and she slides in, standing in the middle of his room feeling a bit lost.

She’s hardly been in his room at the Playground. It stabs at her gut a little bit but she shakes it off. If she knows Fitz, and she likes to believe that she still does, despite everything, his pajamas will still be in the top left drawer of her dresser. Her hands tremble as she opens it and she grins when she finds them there. She strips out of her clothes and slips into an old MIT t-shirt of his. Despite the intimacy of it, she doesn’t even hesitate before putting on a pair of his boxer shorts. 

Slipping beneath his sheets, she closes her eyes against the pounding in her head and the feverish feeling rising up in her. She slips into sleep easily, surrounded by the scent of him. 

*** 

“Jemma,” he whispers softly, brushing her hair from her forehead. “Hey, sweetheart, wake up.” 

She resists the urge to grin at the subconscious moniker he uses. Her eyes flutter open and she gazes up at him blearily. “Hi Fitz.” 

“You gave me a scare,” he teases. “I went to your bunk and you weren’t there.” 

“I wanted to be here,” she says honestly. His eyes melt with a soft expression. 

“I’m glad you do,” he admits softly. “I brought you something.” 

She sits up eagerly, half-anticipating his gesture while maintaining cautious optimism. 

“Oh?” 

He pulls a bowl out from behind his back. She grins despite herself. “Mint chip ice cream.” 

“Oh, Fitz,” she sighs happily. “You remembered.” 

“Of course I did,” he murmurs. “It’s always your favorite, but especially when you’re sick. How are you feeling?” 

“A little better, after some extra sleep.” 

“Good,” he nods. He sits cautiously beside her, helping her sit up to enjoy her ice cream. “I just want you to feel better.” 

“I do,” she assures him. “Thank you, Fitz. For…for everything.” 

“Oh, it’s–” 

“It’s not nothing,” she interrupts. He raises his eyebrows and she continues. “You know me better than anyone else ever has.” 

She hopes that it has the impact she wants it to. He knows her better than her family, her dearest friends, and yes, even Will. He knows everything about her, all of the good and the bad and the ugly, and yet he can still look at her like…like that. 

“Well, uh, I’m…I’m glad that I do. I like knowing you.” 

“I like knowing you too, Fitz.” 

She scoops out a large bite and lets the cold ice cream numb her tongue. She leans into him, tucking her head beneath his chin. He fills her in on the goings-on of the lab, including every minuscule, gossipy detail as she eats. She smiles into her bowl. 

It’s not a declaration of love. It’s not another heated kiss against a lab bench. It’s not jumping through a hole in the universe. But deep down, she knows that they both acknowledge this moment for what it is–love. 


	109. Planet AU (Call Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snippet of my upcoming Planet AU (a different take of Jemma's time on Maveth).
> 
> Prompt: One character asking for another

“Fitz,” Jemma says immediately upon waking. “Fitz!” 

He’s beside her a second later, brushing her grimy hair away from her face. “Hey, Jemma. Hey. I’m right here.” 

“Fitz,” she sighs. Her entire body goes slack in the small cot. “You’re–is it really you?” 

A ghost of a memory so long ago stands beside him for a moment, but he shakes it off. 

“Who else would it be?” he teases. Her eyes flicker open and she looks afraid. 

“My phone,” she sighs. “My…where is my phone?” 

“Coulson has it,” he tells her softly. “It’s safe. Do you…if you need it, I can get it, but it was dead when we found you.” 

“You aren’t…you’re not talking through the phone,” she says, awestruck. “I can see you.” 

He lifts her limp hand to his cheek, letting her palm brush against the scruff of his cheek. “It’s me. Right here. Feel it?” 

“You’re itchy,” she murmurs. He laughs, tears filling his eyes as he clutches her hand where it lays against her face. 

“Not a lot of time to shave lately,” he says softly. “I’ve been kind of busy trying to find you.” 

“You found me,” she whispers. “You really found me.” 

“I did,” he assures her. “But I couldn’t have done it without your help.” 

“I didn’t think it made it,” she says weakly. She tries to sit up, but Fitz quickly lays her back down and makes sure that her IV hasn’t moved. 

“It did. You did all the maths, you showed me how to find you,” he tells her. The pride in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed even though she’s half delirious. 

“It worked,” she marvels. “I…I thought it shattered.” 

“The bottle made it through,” he whispers, voice cracking on the words. His lips find her hairline, pressing a gentle kiss there. “Just as…just as I’d given up hope. You told me you were there. You were still alive.” 

“So you came and got me,” she mumbles.

“So I came and got you,” he confirms. “Rest, Jemma. Please. You’ve more than earned it, I’d say.” 

“Fitz?” 

“Mhm?”

“I’m excited to go to dinner.” 

He chuckles warmly, brushing tears off of his face. “Me too, Jemma.” 


	110. Watch Over Me (Planet AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prequel to previous Planet AU ficlet.

“Jemma, wake up!” he shouts, shaking her by the shoulders. “You’ve got to get up. It’s coming. You need to wake up.” 

“No,” she mumbles into the dirt. “No, I’m so tired.” 

“I know you’re tired,” he concedes. “But Jemma, you’ve got to go, okay? I need you to go. Right now.” 

“I can’t.” 

“You can!” he exclaims. She watches his feet pace in front of her. “I know that you can. If you don’t get up right now, we’ll never see each other again and I can’t–I can’t do that. Can you?” 

Her eyes shoot open and she clutches at her chest. Her phone, resting in its spot next to her face, vibrates with a call. Fitz. 

She answers it, lifting it to her ear with a shaking hand. “Fitz?” 

“Jemma. Jemma, RUN!” 

She scrambles to her feet, keeping her phone to her ear. “Which way?” 

“North,” he says shortly, the way he does when he really means business. Ordinarily she would fight him on it, but her throat is tight and dry and her heart is pounding so loudly it’s all that she can hear. “Go, Jemma! Go!” 

She takes off at a sprint. She can hear the loud howls growing closer as her feet smack against the dry, packed dirt of whatever godforsaken planet has been her home for three months. 

“I can’t,” she pants into the phone. “Fitz, I can’t–I can’t keep going. Please, I just–I want to stop.” 

“You can’t stop,” he reminds her. His voice is loud and fierce, resounding in her chest. “Please don’t stop. I need you. I need you to come home. I know that you can do this.” 

Mustering up the last of her strength, she presses on, sprinting with everything she has across the desertous terrain in front of her. 

“AH!” she shouts as her foot clunks against something hard and metal. her body slamming against the ground. Her phone skitters away from her and she crawls desperately for it. “Fitz?” 

“I’m here,” he assures her. “I’m here.” 

“It’s a latch,” she rushes to tell him. “It’s–some kind of door.” 

“Open it,” he encourages it. “Open it, Jemma.” 

“What if it’s a trap.” 

“You’re going to have to take that risk. They’re getting closer.” 

She looks up into the distance and sees the shadowy figures running toward her on the horizon. “You’re right. I’ll…I’ll talk to you later, Fitz.” 

“Be careful, Jemma.” 

She shoves her phone into her makeshift knapsack and spins the round latch as quickly as she can with her rapidly weakening arms. As soon as it hisses with the release of pressure, she yanks the door opens with a loud squeak. She drops inside, her ankles stinging with the pressure of her fall. 

“Oh my god,” she whispers, looking around in the dimly lit space. Several twin beds are lined up against the wall. A dwelling of some kind, set up by whoever may have been here before. Unlike her, they had obviously come prepared. 

She lifts up the nearest item, a heavy blanket. N.A.S.A. is printed on the side. She secures the latch of the underground shelter and collapses back onto the nearest thin mattress. 

“N.A.S.A.,” she breathes. She’ll look around more when she’s less exhausted. For now, she will rest. She pulls out her phone with the last of her strength, gazing at the picture of him on her phone. “Fitz, I found something. Thank you.” 

She traces his features with a shaking thumb, eyes fluttering shut into sleep once more. 


	111. Huntingbird + Franny's Salloon

Bobbi slides into the stool, absolutely exhausted. She looks up wearily and beckons the bartender forward. “Whiskey sour, please.” 

Franny smiles, the gaping holes in her teeth obvious even in the dim light. “Barbara! It’s been too long.” 

Bobbi winces at the use of her first name. “I’ve told you, Franny. It’s just Bobbi. Please.” 

The older woman rolls her eyes and sets about making her drink. “Your boy is here.” 

Bobbi’s eyes widen. “He…Hunter? He’s here?” 

The seat behind her shakes as he collapses into it heavily. “The one and only.” 

She glances over at him, scanning his face quickly before she turns back to stare at the bar in front of her. “Glad to see you’re alive,” she finally says.

He snorts harshly, taking a long pull from his drink. “You too, Morse.” 

Bobbi scoffs, turning to face him. He looks older than the last time she saw him, and not in a good way. “Morse? You’re calling me Morse now?” 

“You never took my name,” Hunter shoots back. “And you sure as hell aren’t wearing your ring anymore.” 

“And where did your ring end up?” Bobbi retorts. “I can only assume it’s at the bottom of the ocean somewhere.” 

“The Thames, actually,” Hunter snarks. 

She huffs as Franny slides her whiskey sour down the bar top. She takes a sip and cringes. It’s strong and burns her stomach. “Look, Hunter, I’m coming off of a really bad mission. If you want to poke at me, now is not the time.” 

His brow furrows. “Bob–” 

“So I’m Bob now?” 

“You’re hurt,” he observes in that flippant way of his. Her pulse quickens as his finger tips dance over the slice on her neck, just below her ear. “Did you even get checked out?” 

She shakes her head slightly, not enough to push his hand off of her. “I…I thought you might be here. I wanted to see you.” 

“Why?” 

“They threatened you,” she answers dully. “Are you still with Izzy?” 

“Yeah, I’m with Izzy and Idaho,” he tells her. “Whoever it is, they can’t touch me. I promise.” 

“You’re not invincible!” she explodes, whirling on him. He drops his beer bottle and holds his hands up. “I need you to–I need you to be safe, Hunter. Please.” 

He searches her eyes for something. She’s not sure what, but he seems to find it. He nods resolutely and she downs most of her drink, ignoring the way that it stings. 

She presses forward, grabbing him by the neck to pull him into a hot kiss. The cut on her neck doesn’t feel like anything now. The heat of him beneath her finger tips brings her back to life and for this moment, she can forget the blood on her hands. She can forget the bodies in her wake. She can forget the fact that her wedding ring is tucked beneath her shirt on a chain draped around her neck even though his is at the bottom of a river. 

It’s been six months since he begged her to stay and she walked out of their home anyway, signed divorce papers on the table. 

They stumble their way to his slum of an apartment, falling into bed in a familiar dance. She’s gone in the morning before his eyes open. The only hint of her is the keychain on the pillow beside him.

Franny’s Saloon. 


	112. Get Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sequel to a previous ficlet, in which Fitz was possessed by Hive

“JEMMA!” Fitz screams. “JEMMA!” 

She jerks up from her position, curled up in a chair at her bedside. “Fitz! Fitz, I’m right here. I’m here.” 

He presses his fingers to his temples, eyes screwed shut. “It hurts.” 

“Your head?” she asks worriedly. “I can take care of that.” 

“I want to–I want to find It,” he moans. “Where is It?” 

“It’s effects are still strong,” Jemma marvels. She presses her palm to his forehead, finding him to be scalding hot. “It’s in our custody now, Fitz. It can’t hurt you.” 

His eyes open and something dark flashes in them. He grabs her wrist and tugs her forward, pinning her to the hospital bed. She shouts out in surprise. 

“Fitz, let go of me, please.” 

“I don’t…I don’t know what’s happening,” he pants. She fights against his grip and manages to swing her legs over his waist, straddling him and holding his arms on either side of his face. 

“Fitz, you need to fight. Fight this. I know you can.” 

He pants out sharp and shaking breaths as she maintains eye contact with him. “Jemma…” 

“Yes,” she encourages him. “I’m Jemma. What else? What else about me?” 

“We met when we were sixteen,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “You were…you had on this bright purple shirt.” 

“Mhm,” she hums fondly. “Fitz, where were you born?” 

“Glasgow.” 

“Yes, right. Who do you work for?” 

He stills underneath her. After a long, tense moment, he answers. “SHIELD. I’m an agent of SHIELD.” 

“Yes, you’re an agent of SHIELD. Head of Engineering, remember?” 

“Yes,” he breathes. “We…we built the Night Night Gun.” 

Jemma laughs, shocked. Her grip on his wrists slowly loosens as his eyes begin to clear up. “Yes, we did. We really did.” 

“At the Academy, at SciOps, on the Bus, at the Playground…you’ve been beside me the whole damn time,” he murmurs weakly. The corners of his mouth turn up in a tentative smile and she beams back at him.

“Not the whole damn time,” she admits a little bitterly. “But every moment that i could.” 

“Uh…Jemma?” 

“Yes?” 

“Can you…can you get off of me?” Fitz asks sheepishly. “It’s just…uh…” 

She flushes red and clambers back into her chair. “Yes. Of course.” 

“You should go,” he says quietly. “I don’t…I don’t know if that’s going to happen again. If I’ll want to…uh, get back to…to it.” 

“No,” Jemma says sternly. “I’m not leaving. We’re going to fight this. Together.” 

He turns his head to stare at her. Her heart breaks when she sees the fear in his features, and she leans forward to kiss his face, just brushing the corner of his mouth. 

“You’ll always come back to me,” she whispers with certainty. “I believe that. Don’t you?” 

He nods weakly and she intertwines their fingers. Daisy watches from the window, a bittersweet smile on her face as she leans her head on Lincoln’s shoulder. 


	113. College AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaguely rated M, but probably safe to even call it T.

Fitz stumbles into his bedroom, head pounding with the volume of the music in his house. Moving in with Lance Hunter, notorious party boy, had possibly been a big mistake. Their other roommates, Mack and Lincoln, generally did their best to keep him in line, but after a long exam week even they had been on board for the kegger currently taking place downstairs. 

“Hi Fitz,” a quiet voice purrs in the dark. He jumps and slams the light switch. 

“Jemma,” he breathes, eyes going wide as he looks at the girl on his bed. They’d gone on a few dates in the last few weeks and he had been painfully shy on each and every one of them. From the moment he’d met Jemma Simmons as a freshman at orientation week, he’d been absolutely crazy about her. Their paths had continuously crossed through mutual friends, and now, as seniors, he had finally had the guts to ask her out. 

“Hi,” she repeats, lips curling upward. “I was hoping you would come up here soon.” 

“You could have been in Mack’s room,” he can’t help but tease. She shakes her head with a laugh. 

“Bobbi helped me,” she giggles. “Apparently she’s here a lot.” 

Fitz clears his throat, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “Yeah, she and Hunter are uh…y’know…” 

“Sit down,” Jemma says, patting the bed next to her. He immediately obeys, foot bouncing nervously on the floor. She watches him curiously. “Fitz, do you like me?” 

“What?” he practically gasps. “Of course I do.” 

“I wasn’t sure,” she admits a bit shyly. She bites on her bottom lip and he finds himself incredibly distracted. “It just…you’ve been a bit strange, on our…dates. If they were…” 

“They were dates,” he interrupts. “Of course they were dates. I’m just…not good at this.” 

“Good at what?” 

“You know….dating.” 

“You haven’t even tried to kiss me,” Jemma whispers. She turns her face toward him, tilting her head expectantly. 

“Do you…want me to?” 

She cautiously slides the sleeve of her top away from her shoulder, revealing a red, lacy strap. “What do you think?” 

He gulps and surges forward before he can doubt himself further. His lips press clumsily against hers at first, but she immediately pushes back, arms wrapping around his neck insistently. She nips at his lower lip and he groans against his will. To his absolute shock, she pushes him back onto his mattress, throwing one leg over him and straddling his waist. 

“Oh my god,” he groans as her lips move to his neck. “What. The. Hell.” 

She giggles into his ear and resumes her task of kissing and licking at his throat. “I like you, Fitz.” 

“I like you too,” he manages to pant out. HIs hands reach up to grip her waist and she slips one of them beneath her blouse. His fingers grip at the hot skin of her hips and she grinds against him. His breath hitches as she releases a breathy little moan. 

“Should we lock the door?” she whispers. He nods, sitting up too quickly and nearly knocking his forehead against hers. She squeaks, her legs locking around him as he stands briefly to lock the door and turn the light off. The christmas lights wrapped around his window give off just enough light that he can see what he’s doing. He tries to remember everything he’s seen in movies as he turns around to slowly lower her onto the mattress. 

She gasps in surprise and he lowers himself over her, hoping that she doesn’t realize how badly his left hand is shaking. He sucks at her pulse point and her back arches against him. He unconsciously ruts against her thigh and for a fleeting moment he’s embarrassed by this, but then her hips buck up to meet him. 

She grips at his shirt, yanking on it insistently until he pulls away to remove it. She sits up as he does so, removing hers as well. He freezes, staring at her with an awestruck expression.

“What?” she asks self-consciously. Her lacy red bra cups her breasts perfectly and his mouth goes completely dry. 

“You’re…just…um, wow.” 

She smiles bashfully. “Really?” 

He nods eagerly. “Oh, yeah. Really. Very, very really.” 

“Bobbi helped me pick this out,” she explains, thumbing at the strap. “I…this was kind of premeditated.” 

He bites back a grin. Jemma Simmons had a plan to seduce him. Him, of all people. Leo Fitz. 

His hands run up her sides and he fumbles with the clasp of her bra. When he finally gets it, he lets her slide it down her arms, searching her eyes for any uncertainty. She tosses it to the side with a satisfied little smirk on his face when his jaw drops at the sight of her chest. 

Then she squeaks as he presses her eagerly back onto the bed, capturing her lips with his and sucking her bottom lip into his mouth. She gasps into him, clutching at his bare shoulders. 

For the first time ever, he’s grateful for Hunter’s excessively loud party downstairs. Nobody can hear what comes next. 


	114. Do-Over (Second First Date)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma woos Fitz on a second first date at the Playground

Jemma paces nervously in her bunk, tugging at the hem of her dress. “You can do this,” she tells herself. “Just…put yourself out there. He’s done this for you a hundred times already. It’s your turn.” 

She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. It’s been so long since she’s worn makeup. Daisy had helped her with her makeup and hair and she has to admit, she looks quite nice. 

“He liked you when you wore coordinating ties and shirts,” she reminds herself. “You don’t need to worry about this.” 

Even so, she still does. Ever since their “fresh start”, he’d been behaving as though their kiss in the lab never happened. He’d been joking around with her, bringing up long-running gags from their Academy days, but pointedly ignoring any romantic developments that had occurred between them. 

This isn’t what she wanted when she suggested starting over, and she fears that allowing this to continue will mean the end of any possibility between them. 

She looks around her room. An open bottle of red wine sits on her desk, two glasses on either side of it. The projector that she’d painstakingly assembled without his help creates glistening constellations all over the walls and ceiling. She hopes he recalls the time he’d made something similar (admittedly, a better version) back at the Academy, when she’d desperately wanted to see the stars but the light pollution of the city had ruined her chances. 

His knock on her door sends a bolt of nervousness through her gut. She darts to the door, briefly wondering if she should have put on a pair of heels. Shaking her head, she decides to leave her feet bare. After all, it took her hours to choose this simple blue dress. 

She swings open the door and smiles nervously at him. His brows immediately raise upward. 

“Jemma? You uh…asked me to…” 

“Come over, yes,” she says. She steps backward to let him come in and tries to casually press play on her speakers as she shuts the door. Fitz stands in the middle of her room, hands shoved into his pockets. 

“What’s–what is this?” 

“I meant what I said,” Jemma tells him quickly. “You’ve been extraordinary this whole time.” 

He immediately looks weary. “If this is you thanking me–” 

“No,” she cuts him off. “It’s not a thank you, Fitz. It’s…I didn’t mean that you’ve been extraordinary in dealing with Will and everything that happened. I meant…I mean…from the moment I met you, you’ve been extraordinary.” 

His mouth drops open slightly and she bites her lip to keep herself from launching herself into him. 

“This is me, telling you that….that you’re more than that. It’s not just a maybe there is. It’s a…there definitely is, Fitz. There’s definitely something for us to discuss. Romantically. I…I know you may not be able to believe that, because of what I did, but–” 

“Because of what you did?” he asks, brow furrowed. “Jemma, what you did, being with Will, that’s not–I’m not angry at you for any of that.” 

“I know you aren’t,” she says softly, stepping closer to him with cautious optimism. “I know. But I understand if it’s hard for you to feel like my first choice.” 

He looks away from her, wincing at her words. She reaches up gently to cup his cheek in her hand, returning his gaze to her face. 

“You are the most interesting, brave, painfully shy, pasty, handsome man I’ve ever known,” she says, a smile playing at her lips. He barks out a surprised laugh. “And I want to take you on a date. Only, Coulson won’t let us leave the base right now, so this is…this is the best I could do.” 

He eyes her desk. “Red wine?” 

“Yes,” she says firmly. “I want to share a bottle of wine with you and look at the stars and you can lie to me about what they’re all called.” 

He throws his head back in a hearty laugh that warms her stomach. She beams up at him and his hands brush over her sides, skimming the silk of her dress.

“You look beautiful, Jemma.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Did you build that?” he asks, nodding toward the projector. She nods, smirking. 

“Yes, I did. That’s where I’ve been sneaking off to. You really want to tinker with it, don’t you?” 

He grimaces. “If you just give me a couple of minutes, I can really make the image quality clearer.” 

She rolls her eyes fondly, pressing a kiss to his cheekbone. “Go ahead. I’ll pour us some wine?” 

“Please,” he smiles nervously. She pours the glasses. Maveth and Will are the furthest thing from her mind as she watches him pull a screwdriver out of his pocket–because of course he carries tools around, like he always has. She watches him work and marvels at the improvements after just a few seconds of his work. 

“You really are something special,” she murmurs as she hands him the wine. She crawls onto her bed, settling into the pillows and patting the spot beside her. He kicks of his shoes and slowly moves to lay beside her. She points up at a group of stars on the ceiling directly above them. “What’s that one?” 

“Oh, now that right there is definitely Koenig’s Belt,” Fitz teases. She kicks at his foot and giggles, listening to his made-up mythology. They sip at their wine and exchange fake star stories until, finally, he leans over to kiss her. 


	115. Find Me (One Night Stand AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: fitzsimmons + find me (or a one night stand au, where Jemma leaves a few clues where to find her, and Fitz tries to solve the puzzle)

He wakes up with a vague headache and a floral scent on the pillowcase beside him. Groaning, he reaches out to tug Jenna…Jennifer…Jemma?…toward him, only to find an empty space where she had been.

He sits up wildly, looking around his bedroom. Her black pumps, which she’d kicked off near his door, are gone. So is her little purple dress. She’d obviously snuck out early in the morning. Sighing, he collapses back onto his pillows.

Just his luck. He’d finally met a woman he might like–and, for some insane reason, might actually like him back–only to have her disappear in the morning. 

But the sex? The sex had been one hundred percent worth it. 

Rolling his neck around, his fingers reach up to his throat to touch a vaguely sore spot that he’s sure is a love bite. He reaches onto his nighttable in search of water and finds a mug of tea. His brow furrows as he realizes that it’s still warm. 

“What the hell,” he mumbles, lifting it up into his hands. The little paper tag of the Earl Grey tea bag has tiny writing on it. In nearly unreadable script, he barely makes out what appears to be an address. 

5303 Pacific 

He grins to himself and takes a sip of the tea. It’s a little bitter for his taste, but he finishes the entire cup anyway. As soon as he’s done, he races to the bathroom for a quick shower. He takes a little longer than usual selecting his outfit and pulls up the address on his laptop.

It’s the Marine Science Center downtown. A prickle of intrigue floods him and he crams his feet into his shoes. 

“Oi, where are you going?” his roommate Hunter calls out. 

“Nowhere,” Fitz calls back. “I’ll see you later.” 

Hunter doesn’t get a chance to comment on the gorgeous brunette British girl that had snuck out of Fitz’s room that morning. 

*** 

When he arrives at the Marine Science Center, he’s slightly dismayed to find that he has to pay $30 just to enter. For a fleeting moment, he considers whether or not the girl from last night is really worth all this trouble. After all, couldn’t she have just left her damn phone number?

But then he remembers their lengthy conversation in a quiet corner of the bar, the way she’d smiled at him with intelligent hazel eyes and met him word for word with a quick wit. 

He pays for his ticket and enters, wandering aimlessly through the aquarium. He pauses to stare at a particularly exotic tank, full of colorful coral and various fish swimming through it. He’s completely unsure what the hell he’s supposed to be looking for here, until a hand taps him on the shoulder.

He whirls around, expecting to find the mystery girl that he had mind-blowing sex with the night before. Instead, a taller brunette with short hair sizes him up. She wears jeans and a Marine Science Center polo. 

“Not her usual type,” she observes. 

“What?” 

“Oh, sorry. I’m Skye. I work with J–someone you met last night, if you know what I mean.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

“You should probably go to the otter exhibit,” Skye smirks. “It’s a little ways to your right.” 

Then she turns and walks away, leaving him staring after her for a long moment. Shaking himself, he makes his way toward the otter exhibit. When he finally reaches it, he grins at the antics of the little animals, searching the exhibit for some other clue. His eyes go wide when he notices a piece of paper taped to the glass. 

Cute Scottish Guy–You’re otterly charming. I’m dolphin to see you again. 

“She’s an odd one,” he laughs to himself. “Dolphins. Right.” 

He pulls the map of the Science Center out of his back pocket and tracks the dolphin exhibit. A little schedule is listed in the margins of the map. Dolphin shows take place every hour, and one starts in ten minutes. He recalls ranting to the girl last night about his anti-captivity activism with his friend Mack. 

Regardless, he can’t help but be incredibly curious about whatever it is she’s up to. He makes his way along the path and finds a seat just in time for the show to start. Fitz glares at the audience around him accusingly before realizing that he’s complicit in this spectacle just like they are. 

“How is everyone doing?!” a familiar lilt calls out. The girl from last night jogs out from behind a set of fake rocks, wearing a tight wet suit. Fitz is pretty sure his heart stops. She searches the crowd and her eyes land on his, a challenging little smile on her face. “My name is Jemma and today, I’m going to teach you all about dolphins!” 

She whistles and a dolphin shoots through the clear tank, leaping through the air in an impressive little jump. Jemma laughs, eyes alight, and begins to explain the social habits of dolphins in the wild. 

“This dolphin is named Mike,” she explains. She whistles again and Mike slides onto the slick platform that Jemma stands on. “He was attacked in the wild, and one of his flippers was cut clean off. Our rescue team located him and our amazing tech team designed this prosthetic version for him. Isn’t that impressive?” 

He watches her, bemused, as she glances at him again. She obviously remembers his vehement condemnation of her apparent career path and, despite his strong convictions, he suddenly feels compelled to hear her out about the Marine Science Centers captive dolphin program. 

He sticks it out through the entire show. Just before she leaves the stage she nods toward one side of the arena. Then she pulls off her microphone headset and tosses it to the side, diving into the water with the dolphins. One dolphin swims up and pushes at her feet. She gracefully throws her arms out and the dolphin pushes her all the way back behind the rocks. 

Fitz laughs, clapping along with the rest of the crowd. He lets most of the stands empty out and then makes his way slowly to where she’d indicated. She stands there, waiting in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt with wet hair. 

“Jemma,” he greets. “A dolphin trainer? Really?” 

She beams at him. “Fitz. I’m glad you followed my little trail of clues.” 

“Some people just leave a series of seven numbers,” he teases. “You know, the ones that you can dial and then a phone rings…” 

“How very ordinary,” she smiles. “I know you don’t exactly approve of this. But if you’d let me explain our program, I think you would–” 

“Are you done already?” he cuts her off. “I’d love to buy you some lunch and hear all about it.” 

Her eyes widen and she nods. “Yeah, I’m done. I was filling in for another trainer for one show.” 

“Great,” he breathes, shoving his hands into his pockets nervously. He’s already slept with this woman, but for some reason even looking at her for too long has him feeling like a nervous sixth grader. “I know a great sandwich place around the corner.” 

She lights up. “Trip’s? That place is the best!” 

“Yes!” he agrees enthusiastically. She links her arm through his and leads the way out of the Marine Science Center. On their way out, they pass by Skye, who throws him an exaggerated wink. He grins back at her, tuning back in to Jemma’s enthusiastic story about a strange man in a fish hat demanding to purchase a lion fish from the aquarium. 

It doesn’t take him long to realize that she could be reading the menu and he would still be hanging on her every word.


	116. Sketch (Academy AU)

She sprawls out on the grass beside him, long brown hair forming a curtain around her textbook as she leans forward to read it. He is temporarily distracted by the way that the sun glistens off of the caramel colors of her tresses. 

Unable to resist the urge, he flips past the blueprint he’s been drawing in his notebook just as she moves her hair to fall over one shoulder. He stares at her profile, in a brief state of complete awe, and then his pencil begins moving.

Jemma hardly seems to notice, completely wrapped up in reading about the latest discoveries in extraterrestrial biology. Her lips pout slightly in concentration, an expression that has captivated him since their first chemical kinetics class. 

He hardly draws people anymore. Anything other than specs and blueprints has bored him for the better part of six years or so, but there’s absolutely nothing boring about the way that Jemma Simmons scrunches up her nose when she focuses on a difficult subject. 

Fitz takes great care in shading her face just right, trying to capture the creamy shade of her skin and the glint of sunlight in her eyes even in black and white. 

After nearly half an hour of his intense study of her, she finally notices. “What are you doing?” 

He blushes what he’s quite sure is an inhuman purple color. “Uh, nothing.” 

She rolls her eyes and crawls over toward him, accidentally giving him an entirely too pleasurable glimpse down the front of her top. “Let me see!” 

She snatches the notebook out of his hands before he can stop her. Her lips part in surprise as she stares down at the drawing. He squeezes his eyes shut, fully prepared to have his best friend–his only friend, really–chastise him for making her uncomfortable with his attention.

The last thing he ever could have expected is the taste of her watermelon lip balm as she presses her mouth to his in a shy, trembling kiss. She pulls away before he can even react. 

He opens his eyes to find her staring at him in fear, still on all-fours in the grass. “I’m sorry. Was that…not okay? We’re…you’re…we’re just…” 

Fitz doesn’t let her scramble down that rabbit hole. Instead, he surges forward to clumsily kiss her back. 


	117. Breakfast In Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place at the end of Season 2. Jemma never got sucked into the monolith, and FitzSimmons have gone on one (successful) date:

Skye–Daisy, damnit–stands in the doorway of the kitchen and barely chokes back a laugh. 

“Fitz, what the hell is going on in here?” 

He turns around, eyes wide. A streak of syrup on his cheek and powdered sugar all over his hair immediately sets her off into uncontrollable giggles. It feels good. She’s been mourning her parents, trying to come to terms with finally finding her family only to lose them both. The sight of Fitz looking like a human piece of french toast does wonders for her mood. 

“I…well, see, it’s that…” 

His cheeks flush bright pink and Daisy smiles widely. “Oh my god. This is a sex thing.” 

“It is _not_ a sex thing!” Fitz hisses in mortification. He peeks out into the hallway to make sure no one else heard her. 

Her eyes fall on the array of breakfast foods all over the countertop. A tiny, slightly withered flower–which Daisy is fairly certain is actually a weed–sits in a little test tube on a tray.

“I see,” Daisy grins. “It’s a post-sex thing.” 

He flushes even deeper and nods sheepishly. 

“Let me get you a better flower, okay?” she offers. “And in the meantime, washing your face. But keep the sugar in your hair. It’s cute.” 

“Thanks,” he murmurs shyly. She claps him on the shoulder. 

“I’m proud of you, Fitz. And I’m proud of her too. You guys have earned this.” 

He bites down on a beaming smile and nods. She dashes off and returns with a yellow daisy moments later.

“Oh come on,” he teases. She shrugs and puts it in the test tube, throwing out the sad little weed. She watches him painstakingly arrange the food on two plates. 

“I’ll clean up,” Daisy offers. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, really. Go woo your lady, Dr. Fitzy.” 

“Please don’t call me that,” he groans. “But…thanks. For everything.” 

She shoots him a wink and watches him go with twinkling eyes. 

*** 

Jemma wakes to the smell of french toast and bacon. Turning over groggily, she attempts to sit up and fails. 

“Morning,” Fitz whispers, brushing her hair away from her face. He takes a moment to drink in this image of her, wrapped up in his sheets with nothing else on. His breath hitches in his throat as her eyes flutter into awareness. 

“Morning,” she smiles softly. “Is that…?” 

“I made breakfast,” he says. She wriggles to sit up against the pillows, tucking the sheet beneath her arms and smiling enthusiastically. 

“Oh, Fitz!” she sighs happily as he puts the tray over her lap. “This looks amazing.” 

“Ah, it was nothing,” he shrugs as nonchalantly as he can manage. She turns to stare at him disbelievingly, finally noticing the powdered sugar in his curls. Her smile widens and she leans over to brush her hand through his hair. 

“It wasn’t nothing,” she murmurs. “I heard you get up almost an hour ago.” 

“Yeah, well…” 

“And you’re covered in sugar,” she giggles. “It’s adorable.” 

He makes a mental note to thank Daisy for the suggestion. “I was also covered in syrup.” 

“Thanks for fixing that,” she smirks. “You know how much I hate–” 

“Sticky stuff, I know,” he finishes. “Eat your food before it gets cold.” 

She surges forward to kiss him, soft and long. “Thank you, Fitz. I really love…french toast.” 

The long pause between the words sets off a storm of butterflies in his gut. He presses a quick kiss to her lips and smiles. “I really love….french toast, too.” 

She looks at him shyly before turning her attention back to her french toast. She tucks the little daisy behind her hair and smiles at him. He lifts up his hands like a camera and pretends to take a snapshot. 

“What was that?” she giggles. 

He shrugs. “Just wanted to remember it. Got a picture of that right in here.” 

He taps at his temple and she snorts gracelessly. Jemma dips her finger into the syrup on her plate and wipes it on his cheek.

“Oi! What was that for!” 

Then she leans forward and licks it off and he suddenly loses the will to argue. 


	118. Going Home (Planet AU Continued)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another snippet from my Planet AU

She sits at the desk, trying desperately to piece together the rusty, broken pieces of an early 2000s computer. If she can calculate the next time the portal will open, she can try to make it back home. The only problem is that the planet seems to be moving around the portal. 

Without a computer, she can’t do the calculations she needs. She’ll never make it home if she can’t get this damn thing to work. 

She holds her breath as she attempts to power it on. A brief, creaky whirr echoes in the quiet bunker, but just as quickly as it begins, it ends. Jemma stares at the blank monitor helplessly, the small hint of hope that had been growing in her chest shrinking back to nothing.

And then the rage comes. She slams her hands against the desk and sends all of her charts and papers flying. 

“I’m never leaving,” she sobs. “I’m going to die here. I’m going to die here.” 

And then, as she’s come to expect, the phone starts ringing. 

She grabs it off of the desk and answers it without looking. It’s Fitz. It’s always Fitz. 

“You need to calm down,” he says softly. 

“I can’t!” she cries. “I can’t calm down! I’m stuck here forever!” 

“No you aren’t,” he says firmly. “Jemma, you have a power source. The battery on that computer is too old, but you have something that can power the computer.” 

She collapses onto the cot that has become her bed. “No. Fitz, no.” 

“You have to,” he says. His voice is thick and she hardly notices the tears flooding her eyes. 

“I don’t want to. I can’t lose you. What if…what if I drain this battery and I’m still stuck here forever? What if I don’t find a way home?” 

“I’ll always be with you, Jemma. But you know what you have to do.” 

“I miss you, Fitz.” 

“I miss you too. So come back to me, alright? We’ve got plans.” 

She nods, brushing her tears off of her face. She knows he’s not real but it doesn’t make saying goodbye any harder. Deep down she hopes that her mind will create a new way for her to see him. Perhaps he’ll actually be here with her, once the phone is gone. 

She hangs up and takes a moment to collect herself. She stands on shaking legs and makes her way over the computer. 

It’s time to sacrifice her only comfort. It’s time to go home. 


	119. Gossip

“Did you see May leaving Coulson’s bunk this morning?” Jemma whispers excitedly over the lab table. He peers up at her through his goggles, confused. 

“She was probably telling him something after her morning tai chi,” Fitz shrugs. “I don’t think it’s a big deal.” 

Jemma shakes her head, ponytail whipping around her face. “Nuh-uh. Coulson is never awake before 0900, you know that.” 

Fitz screws up his face in concentration. “Y’know, I used to think there was something going on between them, but then Andrew showed up and now–” 

“Now May has closure,” Jemma finishes, eyes sparkling. “She has closure with Andrew and she can finally be with Coulson!” 

Fitz scoffs. “Closure? That’s not closure. Andrew turned into a murderous monster. It’s not like she _chose_ to move on from him. She had no choice.” 

Jemma stiffens, eyes shifting into something more serious. “Just because it was outside of her control doesn’t mean it’s not legitimate.” 

“Coulson will always think of himself as a second choice,” Fitz fires back. He stands from his desk, suddenly agitated, and Jemma watches him carefully. “Coulson is always going to think he’s just the next best thing since the man she really wanted to be with is dead.” 

“So what, you think people can’t move on after their loved ones have died?” Jemma asks incredulously. 

“Not that easily!” 

“I’m not saying it’s easy,” Jemma protests. “But I think May started getting closure and moving on from him when he left her in Hawaii, just like I started to get closure when I left Will behind! Besides, I think she’s always loved Coulson, all this time, just like I’ve always loved you.” 

Fitz freezes. Jemma goes completely still. They stare at one another, both perplexed that their gossiping has somehow lead them into this tangled web of conversation. 

“Were we talking about–” 

“I meant to say–” 

“We can’t even properly gossip anymore,” Jemma says with a snort of laughter. A slow grin breaks over his face and he shakes his head in exasperation. 

“It’s never going to be quite the same, is it?” he asks. There’s no regret there, no heavy sadness to weigh on her. Their argument hadn’t been heated and loaded up with subtext and frustration; it had been the kind of bickering they’d once shared over everything from pizza toppings to the proper dispersal of neurotoxins in an ICER bullet. 

“Probably not,” Jemma admits. She crinkles her nose at him, tilting her head slightly as she examines the ways that he’s changed. He blushes under her obvious appreciation. “But I think…somehow…that it’s better.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees. She bites down on her lip and resists the urge to tease him about the way he voice cracks. “Better.” 


	120. Do You Love Him?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Role reversal AU (AKA the beginning of my full-length fic, Woman On Fire). Fitz was sucked into the Monolith

Jemma flinches under the harsh grip on her arm. She glances over at Hunter, who squares his shoulders despite the blood dripping from his mouth. She watches as he spits it out onto the ground. 

The man holding onto Jemma presses his knife closer to her ribs and she hisses. 

“This man, that you’ve gone through all this trouble for,” the leader says mockingly from across the room. “Do you love him?” 

Hunter turns his head to stare at her but Jemma forces herself to stare their opponent in the eyes. “Yes.” 

“Only love could make a person so stupid,” the man laughs. Jemma lunges forward, the knife to her side slicing against her. 

“GO!” Hunter shouts. Jemma crushes the small tablets underneath her fingernails, emitting a sudden cloud of darkness. She hears the men around them scream as the poison fills the air. Hunter and Jemma seal their lips as tightly as they can. 

She’s pleased to find that her night vision contact lenses are effective. She and Hunter can both see through the madness and their eyes remain protected from the poisonous cloud overwhelming the room. Jemma springs forward and grabs the scroll, running after Hunter as the lookout men begin shooting at them. 

“GET IN THE CAR!” he screams at her. 

She yanks open the door and covers her head the best that she can. “Don’t have to tell me twice!” 

Hunter peels out of the narrow alleyway, handing her a gun from the glove compartment. 

“We’re being followed, and I’ve got to focus on driving.” 

Taking a deep breath, Jemma nods and grasps the pistol with shaking hands. This isn’t an ICER. These bullets are lethal. She raises the weapon the way Hunter had taught her and fires several bullets out of the back window. It shatters, and the man on the motorcycle pursuing them flies off of his bike, clutching his shoulder. 

“Good shot,” Hunter praises. “The car is falling back.” 

Jemma smiles tremulously, gripping the gun so hard her knuckles turn white. “We got it.” 

“Here’s hoping that has the information we need,” Hunter sighs, leaning back in the seat as they live the city behind them. A long beat of silence fills the car. “It’s been five months, Simmons.” 

“I know that,” she replies tersely as she unwinds the headscarf from around hair. “I know exactly how long it’s been, Hunter.” 

“I’m not saying you don’t,” Hunter says, raising one hand to pat her awkwardly on the shoulder. “I’m just saying that our odds are getting slimmer. Bobbi can’t hold down the Science division alone, and Coulson is pissed.” 

“And you want to run off after Ward,” Jemma snaps. He moves his hand back to the steering wheel. 

“Of course I want to go after him,” Hunter argues. “Until we know for sure that Fitz is gone–” 

“He’s not dead,” Jemma interrupts. “I would know. I would feel it.” 

Hunter bites his lip, staring intently on the dirt road ahead. “Fair enough. I know that feeling. Trust your gut, Simmons.” 

“Is this is it?” Jemma asks candidly. “If this is another dead end, are you done helping me?” 

“No,” Hunter answers immediately. “No. We’ll keep going. Whatever it takes.” 

“Thank you, Hunter,” Jemma sighs in relief. “I mean it. I know that you want to go after Ward.” 

“I’ll tell you what,” Hunter grins. “Once we find Fitz, you help me hunt that bastard down.” 

“Well–” 

“Once Fitz is all safe and sound of course,” Hunter finishes. “He can come too. It’ll be fun.” 

Jemma barks out a laugh. “Fun?” 

“Or something.” 

“Or something indeed,” she chuckles. “Alright, you’ve got yourself a deal.” 

He nods and they resume the drive to the airfield in silence. When they reach the quinjet that they’ve taken (unauthorized, of course), Jemma turns to grab his wrist, turning him around. He’s wearing a suit, looking completely unlike himself if it weren’t for the dark red blood on his face and shirt. 

“Thank you,” Jemma breathes. “Hunter, thank you so much. For everything.” 

“Of course, Simmons. I’ve got your six.” 

Jemma smiles and follows him onto the plane. 

“Did you mean it?” he asks as they cut through the clouds. “That you love Fitz?” 

She blinks back tears, avoiding his gaze to stare out of the window beside her. “Yes. I just have to–I have to hope it’s not too late.” 

“Take it from me,” Hunter assures her, patting her knee. “It’s not too late. And we’re gonna get him.” 

Later that day, it’s Hunter who holds her as she sobs. The scroll they’d nearly died for has one word. Simply: death. 


	121. Undercover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Pod, Fitz is sent undercover into Hydra. He's surprised to find another member of his team there, too.

He knows he’s done for as soon as the tall brunette in that terrifying red military jacket beckons him from his desk. She silently leads the way down a labyrinth of hallways until they come to a stop out front of a door that can only mean one thing. 

This is interrogation, and at Hydra, interrogation is brainwashing. 

He’s been made and now he’ll be their puppet for the rest of his life. He knew what he was signing up for when he accepted this mission from Coulson over Jemma’s protests. Putting physical distance between them had seemed logical at the time, his small attempt at compensating for the emotional distance growing since he woke up from nine days in a coma. 

Agent Morse, head of security, lets him in to the interrogation room and orders him to sit. There’s a screen in the corner and a chair that looks like his old dentist’s office. He shivers just thinking of those harrowing visits as a child–he knows this can only be worse. 

He hears the footsteps of his interrogator approaching. He gulps down his fear and lets the spike of adrenaline pumping through him control his actions. He’ll spit in their faces, tell them all to go to hell, before he ever reveals anything about his team, about SHIELD. 

The door opens. He looks up to stare down his captor, right in their eyes. HIs heart stops completely. 

“Jemma,” he whispers weakly. “What the hell?” 

She’s dressed differently and she’s chopped all of her hair off. Dark rings of eyeliner offset her familiar hazel gaze. She slaps a folder down on the table and takes a tense seat across from him, obviously on edge. 

“You didn’t think I was letting you come here alone, did you?” she hisses at him angrily. “What the hell have you done to get yourself made, Fitz?” 

“You’re seriously mad _at me_ right now?” Fitz gasps. “You shouldn’t be here!” 

“I’m every bit the SHIELD agent that you are,” she spits back. He flinches, unsure if she even knows that she’s echoing a sentiment he’d once growled at Grant Ward. 

He scoffs, leaning back in his seat. “You think I don’t know that? You’re the one who thinks I’m useless.” 

She gapes at him, eyes wide and sparked with outrage. “Is that what you think? I’m not here because I didn’t think you could do it–” 

“Then what the hell are you doing here?” he snaps. “What reason do you have for putting your life in danger for the sake of some bloody mission?” 

“It’s not for any mission!” she explodes. “It’s for _you_! Because you told me that you had feelings for me–or maybe you weren’t even saying that, I don’t know, but you told me something important and then made me take the last breath.” 

“You want to talk about this now?” he asks incredulously. 

“You’ve been avoiding me since the second you woke up so now is a good a time as any!” Jemma huffs. Then the door swings open and Agent Morse stands before them, panting and disgruntled. 

“Jemma, we have to get him out of here.” 

“What?” Fitz asks, confused as he stares between them. 

“Agent Barbara Morse,” Jemma says curtly. “Agent of SHIELD. And when she says move, we move.” 

Jemma reaches over to un-cuff him with shaking hands, immediately latching onto his fingers with her own. She turns to Agent Morse in anticipation of directions. 

“Alright, guys,” Bobbi says, puffing herself up in anticipation of a fight. “Let’s do this.” 

Jemma and Fitz lock eyes and he squeezes her hand. So maybe the emotional distance had been his fault, but she hadn’t let him get very far. They’ll talk about that when they’re back at the Playground, safe and sound.

For now, they run. 


	122. Scrawling Soulmates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soulmate AU where everything you write on yourself appears on your soulmate's skin

_Quick, what year did Napolean try to invade Russia?_

Jemma rolls her eyes as she quickly reads the familiar scrawl appearing on her forearm. She snatches a pen off of her desk and writes a message back. 

 _I told you to study last night_  

It doesn’t take long to receive a response–her own words haven’t even disappeared from her skin before Fitz’s handwriting reappears. 

_Jemma, please. I’ve got five minutes left on this test and half of it’s blank. History is your thing, not mine._

She smiles slightly, pushing aside her book and clicks her pen several times before writing once again. As an English lit major, Fitz had a tendency to be far more interest in the narrative of history rather than the numbers and dates. Unlike Fitz, Jemma’s history major brain loved dates and specific details. 

_1812\. You owe me. I have a paper due on Victorian monster lit with your name all over it._

Jemma picks up her textbook once again, swiping a highlighter over a few key passages regarding the Federalist Papers. 

_Have I told you lately that you’re brilliant? So brilliant, in fact, that you might know what property was transferred to the U.S. from France?_

Jemma snorts and shakes her head. 

_You’re running out of time, Fitz. Just send me the next few questions and I’ll answer them. Right now, you’re looking for the Louisiana Purchase, sold by Napolean to the U.S. in 1803 for $15 million. He mostly did it for more war funds. What’s next?_

Jemma has never been a big fan of cheating, but the ability to communicate with her soulmate–something she’ll never quite get used to–had arisen quite suddenly in the middle of a freshman lecture during her first semester of college. She’d spent weeks trying to figure out who it was, deciphering little notes he’d written to himself. He had a tendency to write his new favorite quotes from his book of the moment on his wrists and arms–as a result, they promptly appeared on Jemma. She’s search the dining hall and library for anyone reading the title, but found no one. It wasn’t until the professor pulled Leo Fitz up to the front of the class to write out a geometric proof that she’d realized it. 

She’d been too afraid to actually do anything about it until late one night when she looked down at her arm to see one tentative word: _hello?_

*** 

The quotes that appear on her arm seem to have a common theme, lately. They all seem to be about love and connection and something about it makes her a little bit jealous. She’s noticed him spending more and more time with Skye lately, finding reasons to not be alone with her. Perhaps he’s planning on a romantic gesture. 

It makes her sick to her stomach. Nobody ever said that soulmates have to be romantic. Most of her friends have purely platonic relationships with their soulmates, other than Hunter and Bobbi’s tumultuous on-again-off-again _thing_.

_“I imagine a line, a white line, painted on the sand and on the ocean, from me to you.”_

She huffs and scrawls the sentence down in her notebook where she keeps all his quotes for him. They disappear off of his skin after he writes them, and she’d hate for him to lose his favorites. She reads down the most current page, narrowing her eyes in annoyance. 

_“I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self respect. And it’s these things I’d believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn’t all she should be. I love her and it is the beginning of everything.”_

_“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”  
_

_“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.”  
_

_“In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”  
_

The last one, she recognizes. After all, they’d just recently watched Pride and Prejudice, and he’d teased her for swooning over Mr. Darcy’s flexing hand. Sighing, Jemma snaps the notebook shut just as a knock rattles her door in its frame. 

She swings it open and finds Fitz standing there, with an open smile and a paper cup in his hand. He presses it into her empty palm. She takes a sip–her favorite cup of late afternoon mint tea, just enough to give her some pep but no caffeine to disrupt her sleep. His recent quotes zip through her mind so quickly she can hardly keep up. 

He’s in love. He’s in love with someone and they won’t know how he takes his tea or that he misses his father even though he’ll never, ever admit it. They won’t know that he actually really likes math and that horror movies scare him. They won’t know all of the little things about him that she does. They can never know him like she does, never care about him like she does, never be one with his mind like she is. 

“You can’t be in love,” Jemma blurts out. He spins around, nearly dropping his own tea–black tea, she’s sure, despite the late hour. 

“What?” he breathes. 

“You can’t,” she repeats, voice shaking. “You can’t be in love with–with someone else. I can’t take it.” 

He gulps and sets down his cup. “You noticed.” 

“The quotes on my arm?” she asks sarcastically. “You know I write them down for you. I’ve got notebooks full of them. Can’t you just get a damn piece of paper?!” 

“Jemma–” 

“I didn’t know, until just now,” she whispers, throat tightening with tears. “I didn’t know until this moment but all those words, all of those things that remind you of Skye, they all remind me of you. And how I feel about you. You can’t–” 

“Skye?” he echoes, jaw slack. “You think I’m in love with Skye?” 

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” she shoots back. She abandons her cup to clasp her hands behind her neck. “You’ve been with her all the time. You’ve been avoiding me, finding reasons to avoid being alone with me–” 

“Because I couldn’t figure out how to tell you,” Fitz murmurs. He steps into her space and she stumbles back a step in surprise. He catches her gently by the wrists, his left hand shaking from his old injury. Jemma mentally adds it to the list of things no one else can ever understand about him. 

“You’re my best friend in the world,” she says softly, looking up at him pleadingly. “I don’t want to lose you, I don’t want–I know that I can’t expect–” 

“You’re more than that, Jemma,” he blurts out so quickly she nearly misses it. “You’re–they’re for you. About you. All of them. I’ve been with Skye so much trying to figure out how to tell you. I’ve been reading all these books to find the words, then I hoped you might just put it together on your own if you saw them on your arm, and–” 

She surges forward and presses her lips to his, smiling slightly as he lets out an oomph of surprise. His hands move from her wrists to her waist and she pulls him tighter. The same little tingle that dances across her arm when his words appear now flies through all of her veins and she’s utterly intoxicated by it. 

“So..?” he asks tentatively when he pulls away. “This is…you’re…” 

“In vain I have struggled,” she quotes with a teasing smile. “It will not do.” 

“Stop,” he whines, rolling his head back. “Don’t make fun of me!” 

“I’m not!” she denies with a laugh. “Fitz, you must allow me to tell you–” 

He cuts her off with another kiss and she soon becomes completely incapable of remembering the English language, let alone an entire page full of quotations. 


	123. Librarian/Avid Reader AU

“Hello,” a sharp voice says, rather loudly for the library. Fitz looks up from his book so quickly that his glasses nearly slip off of his face. He stares up into the bright, wide brown eyes of a beautiful woman. 

“Uh…hi,” he replies after a long beat. He adjusts his glasses and gulps down a breath before remembering that she probably needs something. “Can I help you with something?” 

“Hi there. I’m Jemma. I was wondering if you might have any recommendations for me,” the girl says. “I just…well, I see you here all the time, and I feel like I’ve gone through every 100 Books to Read Before You Die list–” 

“Well, I guess you can die then,” he says, grimacing as soon as he words leave his mouth. Heat rushes to his cheeks and he fumbles to right his wrong. “Not that I want you to die. I don’t even…I don’t know you. You haven’t done anything to me.” 

She laughs quietly, lips quirking upward in a bemused little smile that sends his heart racing. “Well, what are you reading?” 

He lifts the book, showing her the cover. “This Is How You Lose Her.” 

“Is that an instructional manual?” she teases. “Trying to shake a bad girlfriend, are you?” 

He coughs, spluttering like a fool before rapidly shaking his head back and forth. “No. No girlfriend. Not even a bad one.” 

Her smile widens. “Well, do you recommend it?” 

“What? Having a bad girlfriend?” 

She rolls her eyes, obviously exasperated with him. “No, the book.” 

“Oh. Well uh, sure. It’s kind of a series of vignettes, not sure if you’re into that sort of thing, but–” 

She crinkles her nose. “Hmm, not really. I prefer novels with a linear narrative.” 

“Ah,” he muses. “Well, let’s see. I can’t suggest anything too popular, that will have been on one of your lists.” 

“Most likely,” she hums in agreement. “Well, if it helps, I’ve just finished The Great Gatsby and really enjoyed it. Apparently everyone in this country has read it, so I thought I might as well try…” 

“Follow me!” he exclaims, hoisting himself over the desk without opening the little door on the side. 

“Oh!” she gasps, backing up as he flies toward her. 

He lands on his feet with only the slightest of stumbles and walks quickly toward the back of the library. She struggles to keep up with his pace, listening to his incoherent mumblings. He makes a sharp right at an aisle and she trails after him, colliding with his back when he stops suddenly and deftly plucks a slim book off of the shelf. 

“Here you are,” he says, fingers brushing against hers as he hands it to her. “The Love of the Last Tycoon. Fitzgerald’s best book, if you ask me. Sure, Gatsby is all well and fine but it’s overdone.” 

“What’s it about?” 

“You’ll have to read it to find out,” he quips. “Fitzgerald was writing it when he died, actually. He didn’t finish it. You’ll have to come back when you finish, though–” 

“Well, of course I do,” she interrupts. “It’s a library book. The whole point is to bring it back.” 

He smiles crookedly, scratching behind one ear. “Right, yeah. Of course. But you’ll have to stop in instead of just using the chute. I’d love to hear what you think of the ending.” 

“You said he died before he finished,” Jemma says, following him back out of the aisle on his trip back to the desk. 

“He did,” Fitz clarifies. “It’s a big debate, whether or not it’s an unfinished work or not. You’ll have to tell me what you think of the ending.” 

“What’s your name?” she blurts out as she watches him jump back over the desk. 

“Fitz,” he says, snatching the book to scan it for her. She slides her library card over the counter and watches him scan it. 

“Fitz,” she repeats slowly. “Your name is Fitz and you’re a Scot who just recommended an F. Scott Fitzgerald book to me.” 

He looks up at her, a warning in his eyes, but then she’s loudly laughing and he’s blushing and shushing her since they are in a library, after all. 

“How about I don’t come back?” Jemma asks. He blinks, confused, but she continues. “Meet me at the coffee shop around the corner next Saturday. We can talk all about the book and you can just bring it back for me.” 

He wants to make a quip about not being her errand boy but he’s also pretty sure he’s just been asked on a date by a beautiful woman who likes to read, and he’s not about to pass that up. 

“That’d be…yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.” 

She smiles brightly and scrawls her name and number on a little piece of paper from his side of the desk. Ordinarily he’d chide her for encroaching on his pristine work space but he can’t bring himself to care. She grabs her book and library card and practically bounces out of the building and into the blinding sunlight. 

“F. Scot Fitzgerald,” he grumbles to himself. “I _really_  had to do that, didn’t I?” 

He smiles anyway, despite himself. 


	124. My Roommate's Boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma falls for her roommate's boyfriend.

“I’m a horrible person,” Jemma whines, collapsing her head into her hands. 

“You’re not,” Trip insists, reaching over to pat her arm. “It’s not like you did it on purpose.” 

“How did I fall in love with my best friend’s boyfriend?” she asks as though Trip can answer her. The man in question screws up his face and shrugs awkwardly. 

“I’ll be honest, I did _not_ see it coming,” Trip jokes. “He’s a cool guy but he’s not your usual type.” 

“I know!” Jemma exclaims, exasperated. “He’s not! At all! This is ridiculous. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t–” 

“Well, you can certainly still drink,” Trip jokes, nodding at the empty beer bottles beside her. He clinks his against heres and grins. “C’mon, girl. Chin up. If you ask me, Skye doesn’t seem that into him. Maybe she’ll dump him and then he’s all yours.” 

“I don’t want to be his rebound,” Jemma shoots back. “And that would be weird, wouldn’t it? Dating your friend’s ex?” 

“I dunno,” Trip shrugs. “After Skye and Grant broke up I never tried to go there cause of him, but now…kinda wish I had.” 

Jemma smiles sympathetically and pats his arm. “Well, he was a horrible friend, anyhow.” 

“We’re pathetic,” Trip says after a beat of silence. “We don’t even have it in us to try to break them up.” 

“Being good people is the worst,” Jemma sighs. 

“I’ll drink to that,” Trip mumbles. They clink their bottles once again and raise them to their lips. 

*** 

Jemma swings open the door, mascara undoubtedly all over her face, hair a complete disaster. Fitz stands in front of her, eyes going wide as they roam over her. 

Great. Just what she needed.

“Jemma, hi,” he greets awkwardly. “Is Skye ready yet?” 

Jemma pauses, racking her brain. “I actually–I’m not so sure that she’s home right now. What time is it?” 

“It’s three in the afternoon,” he tells her. She steps back to let him in to her and Skye’s apartment. “She said she may have to work a bit late, so I guess I can just come back later.” 

“Just wait here,” Jemma offers. “It’s a trek back to your place.” 

“Thanks,” he smiles, collapsing onto the couch. He gestures at her face. “So, uh, what happened there?” 

“Trip and I apparently decided that we’d like to drink the bar out of business,” Jemma explains with a wince. 

“Oh,” Fitz says, an odd expression on his face. “I didn’t know that you and Trip are a uh…well, an item.” 

Jemma snorts gracelessly and moves to the kitchen to grab a ginger ale from the fridge. “Oh, no. No, no, no. We tried, once, a few years back. Nothing came of it though.” 

She misses the relief on his features as she rummages through the fridge. 

“So you’re…not seeing anyone?” 

“Nope,” Jemma answers, shifting on her feet. “It seems all the best ones are taken these days.” 

If he notices the sadness in her voice, he ignores it. She holds up her can of ginger ale and shuffles back toward her bedroom. “Make yourself at home. I’m going to get horizontal again before the apartment decides to spin again.”

He laughs and nods. “Yeah, thanks. Hope you feel better.” 

She closes the door to her room and leans against his, shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath. When she opens them, her stomach lurches as her vision swims and she collapses back into bed, hoping that she’ll be asleep once again before Skye gets home. 

*** 

“Jemma!” a familiar voice calls out. “JEMMA!” 

She considers pretending she hasn’t heard him; after all, she’s wearing ear buds and running through the park. Her instincts betray her, though, and she removes one of her headphones to turn around and talk to him.

Fitz looks properly disheveled, balancing his paperwork and trying to catch up with her. She smiles slightly at his appearance and jogs forward to help him out. “Hi Fitz. Nice to see you.” 

“You too,” he grins. “You run here often?” 

She nods. “Every morning, actually. What are you doing here so early?” 

“I’m heading in to work,” Fitz explains, nodding at the papers that Jemma took from him. “Apparently nonlethal weapons won’t design themselves.” 

“Pesky little things, aren’t they?” Jemma teases. “It’s been a few weeks. I was surprised not to see you around the apartment.” 

Fitz colors and shrugs as best as he can with his arms full. “Skye and I had a row. We’re alright now, but…just trying to cool off, I guess.” 

“Oh?” Jemma asks, interest piqued. “What about?” 

He hesitates and she shakes her head. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I can be such a gossip. I’m sure you don’t want to talk about it with me, of all people.” 

“No!” he rushes. “It’s not–I’d like to, actually. You’re incredibly easy to talk to, you know.” 

“Really?” she asks. “I’ve been told quite the opposite. I’m…a little odd.” 

“Yeah well, that makes two of us,” Fitz grins. “That’s actually what the fight was about. Apparently I talk too fast about my work. Skye gets a bit bored by it and I don’t exactly answer questions well, so half the time she’s got no clue what’s going on.” 

Jemma feels a pang in her gut at the mention of her roommate but pushes past it as they continue walking down the path. “I _so_ know what you mean. That’s part of the reason my ex and I broke up. Will was great, and we really did get along but he just wasn’t all that interested in my work. I suppose that would have been fine if I wasn’t so _obsessed_ with my work.” 

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” Fitz asks, voice rising with enthusiasm. “It’s like, no one understands that rush of discovering something new, making it work, finding the impossible answer.” 

“And when you do, it’s all you can think about,” Jemma finishes. “Absolutely.” 

“And when you can’t find the answer–” 

“That’s all you can think about, too,” Jemma completes for him. He beams at her, nodding. 

“See, you get it! If only Skye saw it that way.” 

The magic of the moment shatters and Jemma practically shoves his documents onto his chest. “Right, well. I’ve got to finish my run. I’ll see you around, Fitz.” 

She’s glad to have an excuse to literally take off running. 

*** 

“I don’t think it’s working.”

Jemma looks up from chopping bell peppers and gapes at her roommate. “What?” 

“Fitz is nice,” Skye explains with a slight grimace. “And he’s funny, and he’s a really good guy but–I don’t know. The attraction just isn’t there.” 

“Really?” Jemma asks, attempting to hide her growing interest in the subject. “How’s the um…well, the uh, you know…” 

“Sex?” Skye finishes. “Non-existent.” 

“Wait…really?” 

Skye sighs dramatically and flops back onto the couch. “Yep. We’ve fooled around a little but that’s it. You haven’t notice that he’s literally never slept over?” 

“I guess I wasn’t paying attention,” Jemma says carefully. She’s never been a good liar, especially to her best friend. “So, are you going to end things with him?” 

“Yeah,” Skye answers, a bit regrettably. “I wish it coulda worked. I think I’m a little wild for him and he’s a little too smart for me.” 

“Skye!” Jemma chastises. “You stop that. You’re incredibly intelligent. You hacked into the Pentagon. For fun.” 

“Alright, Dr. _Dr._ Simmons,” Skye teases. “I bet you understand all the weird shit he builds.” 

“Oh, his weaponry designs are groundbreaking,” Jemma hums absently, stirring the peppers into the skillet. She doesn’t notice Skye watching her face carefully. “His dissertation for his PhD? Utterly brilliant. And his recent work on the possible discovery of an entirely different planet, accessible by portal? It’s just absolutely astounding!” 

“So, you actually…get this stuff,” Skye says curiously. “I mean, I figured you did. I just didn’t know you two had talked about it so much.” 

“Well, yes,” Jemma blushes, hiding her face. “Just when you’re taking too long on your hair, or–” 

“Jemma,” Skye cuts her off. She stands and walks closer to the kitchen, watching Jemma pointedly. “Do you have a crush on Fitz?” 

“No!” Jemma splutters. It’s technically not a lie. It’s more than a crush and it’s more than crushing her. “It’s not like that, Skye. He’s your boyfriend.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Skye exclaims, throwing her hands up. “And I can’t believe I didn’t see this before, but Jemma…you two would be so cute.” 

“I can’t date your ex,” Jemma evades, giggling nervously. “That would be weird.” 

“Well no, you can’t date Grant or Lincoln or Miles or any of my actual ex-boyfriends but Fitz is just someone I’m casually seeing,” Skye argues. She shifts, leaning on the counter in the way that she does when she’s trying to be casual. “It’d be like…me going out with Trip. You guys went out for a little while but it wasn’t anything serious. That wouldn’t…bother you, would it?” 

Jemma blinks rapidly. “No. No, it wouldn’t. Skye, if you like Trip…” 

“Of course I like Trip,” Skye snorts. “I’ve tried to ignore for…oh, I don’t know, the past four years.” 

“You should have told me before I said yes to him!” Jemma gasps, slapping Skye’s arm. 

“I didn’t want to ruin anything for you,” Skye says seriously. “You’re my favorite person, Jemma. I would choose your happiness over mine, every time.” 

Jemma smiles at her and wraps one arm around Skye’s shoulders. “I feel the same, you know.” 

“Great,” Skye chirps. “Then I’m going to break up with Fitz and you’re going to ask him out.” 

“And you’ll ask Trip out,” Jemma quickly jumps in. She can’t believe this conversation. Her head swims with the revelations of Skye and Trip and Fitz and her. 

That’s when she freezes. Sure, she’s crazy about him…but what if he doesn’t feel the same? 

*** 

Three weeks go by. In that time, Skye has split up from Fitz and started seeing Trip. According to her best friend, the breakup had been amicable. In fact, they’d both blurted out “I want to see other people” at the same time. 

While Skye had insisted over and over that Fitz had meant _Jemma_ when he’d said other people, but the alleged object of his affections can’t help but disagree. Skye’s insistence had become so intense that Jemma isn’t sure why she’s surprised, honestly. 

She’d agreed to go bowling with Skye, Trip, Hunter, Bobbi, and Mack. Skye had met Fitz through Mack, anyway, and Jemma should have immediately recognized his presence as a sign. 

“Jemma,” a familiar accent says as she inspects the 7 pound bowling balls on the shelf. She’s been debating between blue and green. 

“Fitz!” she squeaks, nearly dropping the green ball on her toes. “Hello! I didn’t…know you were coming.” 

“Sorry,” he says uncomfortably, shifting on his teeth. “Should I…not be here?” 

“No!” Jemma denies quickly. “It’s not that at all. I didn’t expect for you and Skye to be this friendly, is all.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Fitz shrugs, moving down the long shelf of bowling balls toward the 9-pounders. Jemma bites down on her smile as he stumbles a bit with the weight of one. “We’re good. We’re totally fine. I don’t really know what we were thinking, to be honest.” 

“Oh really? You seemed to really like her,” Jemma says. Her voice is far quieter than she wanted it to be, but there’s nothing for it now. 

“I did really like her,” Fitz says. He shuts his eyes and exhales sharply. “Well, at first. I thought I did. But when we first starting, y’know, seeing each other, I well…I met someone else who caught my attention and there wasn’t really any going back from there.” 

Jemma flashes him a sad excuse for a smile and attempts to lift her bowling ball in his direction for some inexplicable reason. It slips from her hands and it drops onto her feet. She knew that walking around in her socks was a mistake, but she hadn’t quite understood why until 7 concentrated pounds of bowling ball crushes the bones in her foot. 

She shouts and collapses onto the floor, clutching her foot. Fitz lets out a yell of surprise and drops his own bowling ball–right onto her foot and the hand that holds on to it. 

“Oh! Oh, shit!” Fitz yells. “Are you okay?” 

She chokes back a little sob as tears of pain burn at her eyes. “I…I don’t know, I think something might have broken.” 

“Okay,” Fitz breathes. “Alright, we’ll get you to a hospital or urgent care or…X-Rays! We need X-Rays!” 

“Oh, Fitz, I don’t think–” 

Then he’s grunting and grabbing at her and trying his hardest to hoist her into his arms. The whole thing is a mess. She elbows him in the cheek and he almost drops her but eventually he gets a decent enough hold on her. 

“Jemma?” Skye calls after her. “What’s going on?” 

“HOSPITAL!” Fitz calls back, a bit wildly.

“What?!” Bobbi shouts in concern. “What’s–” 

But Fitz is already out of the bowling alley, sitting her down on the hood of his Honda Civic and fumbling with his keys. 

“I’m so sorry,” he bumbles. “I didn’t mean–oh god, this is just my bloody luck, isn’t it?” 

Jemma opens her mouth to ask him what he’s on about, but he presses forward and she can’t stop him. 

“I mean, I finally find someone who gets it, who gets me, and then I break her hand or foot or just…I break her and of fucking course I do, since I already dated her roommate like the idiot that I am so she’s off the table and–” 

“Fitz!” Jemma tries to cut him off. 

He keeps going anyway. “As if she’d ever be on the table for me anyway. Beautiful and brilliant and brave and–” 

“Fitz!” Jemma practically screams at him. He drops his keys and stares at her, wide-eyed and confused. “Fitz, I’m not off the table. Not at all. You didn’t break me. The bowling ball was just…an unfortunate incident.” 

“There’s just…there’s nothing to discuss between us, Jemma.” 

She grabs his arm and pulls him closer, lining him up between her legs. “Maybe there is.” 

Jemma reaches up with all of the courage (and post-injury adrenaline) in her, and tugs him down for a kiss. It’s tentative at first, nervous and shy, but when he responds in earnest she snakes her arms around his neck and tugs him as close as possible.

“Is this weird?” he whispers when she pulls away. His eyes stay shut, as though he wants to live in this moment. She smiles and shakes her head. 

“No. It’s not. I don’t think so, at least. Everything worked out in the end.” 

He nods, eyes still closed as he dives in to kiss her more ardently. She responds enthusiastically until her injured hand grasps at his hair and his thigh bumps against her bad foot. 

She hisses in pain, causing him to pull away in a panic.

“Hospital?” he asks, voice husky and cheeks flush. She beams at him, nodding and placing one hand on his cheek.

“Yeah, hospital is probably good,” she agrees. “But…you’ll stay with me?” 

“Of course I will.” 


	125. Huntingbird WWII AU

“Don’t die out there, alright?” Bobbi blurts out. She can’t believe that, of all things, is what she chooses to say. When she’d come to England to study, just before the war broke out, she hadn’t any intention of hooking a man. Barbara-you-better-call-me-Bobbi-Morse had never had any intention of spending her life baking pies and raising children. 

Then she’d met Lance Hunter, always covered in grease and taking care of the orphans in his town. He had no interest in the kind of woman who would have been happy baking pies and raising children anyway, and so they’d fallen into something beautiful and maddening and entirely unexpected. 

“I’ll do my best,” he promises. His hands don’t tremble and there’s no hint of fear in his eyes as he buttons up his new uniform. “We’ll stop this bastards in France and I’ll come home. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that,” Bobbi reminds him. “I told you about my friend Daisy and what happened to her beau. Trip and his entire–” 

“I won’t end up like Trip,” Hunter interjects. He turns from the mirror and she sucks in a breath at the way he looks in uniform. He looks old, mature, and strikingly handsome–ready for anything. 

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she warns.

“I never do anything stupid,” he retorts cheekily, leaning forward to kiss her lightly on the lips. She pushes him back but keeps one hand on his chest. 

“We met because you took it upon yourself to get into a brawl over a situation I had under control. That was stupid.” 

“You were the bait, darling,” he grins. She sighs in exasperation and tugs him down by the lapels of his army jacket. 

“I don’t like the thought of you on the ground,” she admits quietly. “I’d rather you were flying.” 

“Flying’s just as bad, sweetheart,” he reminds her. “But I can’t do nothing. I’ve sat around too long. I’ve been the only man of fighting age in this town for nearly a year now. Even Fitz took off.” 

“Maybe I’ll do what Jemma did,” Bobbi suggests. “Join the nursing corps and hope that I’m put on a mobile unit near you.” 

“Don’t you dare,” he snaps. “I won’t be able to think straight, if you’re out there somewhere.” 

“Well what do you suggest I do?” she shouts, standing suddenly. The chair she was in shrieks against the floor and he flinches in surprise. “Sit around and wait for you? Sit here and wait for some man to knock on the door and tell me how sorry he is for my loss? Because I can’t do that, Hunter.” 

He clears his throat and scratches at the back of his neck. “I have something I need you to do for me.” 

She glares at him, crossing her arms over her chest and shaking an errant curl out of her face. “What?” 

“There’s these kids. Three of ‘em, actually, and Fitz helped secure passage for them out of Poland.” 

“Jews,” Bobbi breathes. “How did he get them–” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Hunter cuts her off. He checks his pocket watch; his time is running out, and the smiling photo of Bobbi that he’s pasted in the inside of his watch beams back at him. “But you could help them. Harbor them here, take them in and protect them. I know you want to help, and I know you’re a better shot than me and anyone else in my division. You’re amazing, Bob. I know you’re capable of protecting them. You can save lives.” 

Bobbi huffs in agreement. Women can’t fight, though, and although she’d considered posing as a man to hold off the S.S. herself, she knows the risks are too great. 

“I’ll do it,” she says firmly. “When are they coming?” 

“Three days, they’ll be at King’s Cross,” Hunter explains. He hands her his letters from Fitz and then pulls Bobbi into his arms. “I have to go.” 

“I know,” she murmurs into his shoulder. “I mean it, Hunter. Don’t die out there.” 

“I won’t,” he assures her, tucking her blonde hair behind one ear. He pulls her in for a lengthy kiss and smiles a bit grimly. “It’s not safe here, either. Don’t die out there, either.” 

“I won’t,” she promises. She watches him go, stares at his figure on the misty street, and then stares down at her left hand. There’s no ring on her finger, no guarantee like the other women working in the ammunitions factory. 

She tells herself, then, that if he makes it back and she makes it through the terror of these bombings and chaos, that she’s going to make that obstinate, stubborn, perfect man her husband. 


	126. Just Add Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was that Jemma would receive mermaid powers similar to that of H2O: Just Add Water. Here’s my best crack at it:

It all started on a simple investigation of a potential O84, an old school operation that Jemma had been eager to jump on in the midst of Inhumans and power struggles in the internal structures of SHIELD. Perhaps it was because of the madness in a Post-Hydra world that Jemma had simply forgotten that even in the peak of her days on SHIELD 616, O84 investigations were never actually simple.

Fitz had remained with Mack on a boat outside of the cave, located on a small island off of the coast of Australia. Jemma herself had kayaked inside of it, climbing onto the slippery rocks to examine the water in the small pools.

“Bioluminescence,” she murmurs into her comms as she holds up a device to scan the water. It’s the middle of the night, an eerie time to be on a mission of this nature, but it had been their only option. All reports of strange activity had only occurred at night. “But it doesn’t appear to be coming from any discernible organism.” 

“Well, be careful,” Fitz warns. “There may be some kind of device in there. That’s what we’re looking for. Either a device or a creature of some kind.” 

“Wait a second,” she hears Mack say in her ear. “Simmons, you need to get out of there. You’re under a volcano.” 

“What?” she gasps, just as Fitz yelps.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Fitz demands. 

Through the small hole in the ceiling of the cave, Jemma sees the large full moon move into place. A bright flash of light illuminates the entire cave just as the water inside of it surges in a large wave. She hardly has time to scream before it knocks her off of her feet, tossing her into the pool.

***

She wakes in the medical bay at the Playground, Fitz sitting beside her with a furrowed brow and damp hair.

“Fitz,” she whispers. “Hi.” 

“Hey,” he croaks back. “We’ve both drowned now. Let’s call it even and not do it again, yeah?” 

Jemma cracks a half-smile and nods. “Alright. That sounds fair.”

He stares at her for a long moment and she stares back. “Fitz, I–”

“We should get someone,” he interrupts. “You probably still need to be checked out.” 

Jemma reaches for his hand as he stands. “No, Fitz, wait please. I…I didn’t get to have my moment. I didn’t get to tell you that–well, you’re more than that too. That wave crashed over me and all I could think about was that you wouldn’t know, and I need you to know that now.”

He stares at her incredulously before gulping and nodding. “Oh. Um…okay. Right, then.”

“It’s okay if you’ve moved on, I’d understand.” 

“No!” he says quickly. He circles his wrist around, gesturing at his temple. “Just uh…just processing.” 

“Right,” she confirms with a little nod. “Take all the time you need. Would you mind getting some water for me though?” 

Fitz rolls his eyes good naturedly. “You’d think you’d have had enough water.”

He moves to pour a glass from a nearby pitcher and hand it to her gently.

“Did you jump in after me?” she asks after a moment. “You’re wet.” 

“Oh, uh…yeah. Once we heard your comms go out and the storm started out of nowhere, I–kind of abandoned ship and went into the cave.” 

“Fitz!” she gasps. “You shouldn’t have done that.” 

“Yeah well, I told you to leave me behind, didn’t I?” he retorts. “Neither of us are very good at following directions.” 

“Thank you,” she whispers softly. “Thank you for coming back for me.” 

He shrugs, looking away bashfully. “What else was I gonna do?”

She surges forward, aiming for his lips. Instead, her glass of water spills all over her and a sudden, powerful tingling feeling overwhelms her.

“Agh!” she exclaims. Fitz stands suddenly, backing up against the wall with shaking hands.

“Jemma!” he shouts. He points wordlessly at her legs. 

Where her legs used to be, at least. They’ve been replaced with a shimmering gold….fin.

“FITZ!” Jemma shrieks. “FITZ, WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME?!” 

He takes off running into the hall, shouting for help. Her breathing becomes shallow and rapid. Unable to take a deep breath, she feels the room spin before she passes out.

***

They still haven’t found a reason for her…predicament, but at least her unfortunate transformation only seems to occur when water touches her skin. Coulson had been kind enough to have a bathtub installed, rather than just the showers. Her fellow teammates had been very pleased by this development; on more than one occasion, she’d caught Hunter indulging in a lengthy soak.

Jemma was very relieved that he apparently preferred using a copious amount of bubble bath, saving her from seeing anything that Bobbi might want to kill her for.

“Hey!” she hears Fitz snap at someone. She spins around, holding her petri dish tightly as to not drop it. He holds his hand out at one of the lab-techs. “No water without a lid on it, Jackson!” 

Jemma rolls her eyes in exasperation. “Ugh, Fitz!”

“I’d rather not have to use that,” he shoots back, pointing at the (rather embarrassing) tank in the corner of the room. The two times she’d spilled water on herself in the lab, Fitz and two other lab techs had to toss her inside of it until the effects subsided. 

“Jackson wouldn’t spill his water on me,” she argues. “He works all the way on the other side of the lab!” 

The lab tech in question is gone, anyway, so the entire point is moot. Fitz crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. 

“Until we figure out what the hell is causing this, no water in the lab.” 

“Fitz, some of my work requires water as an element!” she snaps. “You can’t just ban water from our lab without consulting me.”

“You’re a bloody were-mermaid!” 

Jemma scoffs. “Oh, I hardly think that’s appropriate. The full moon has nothing to do with it, and while I may exhibit mermaid-like symptoms–”

Fitz snorts and shoots her a haughty look. “Listen to yourself. Mermaid-like symptoms. You turn into a mermaid, Simmons.”

She slams her dish down and grits her teeth. “It’s been two months, Fitz! It is what it is, we can’t just change everything because of it.”

“Hey,” he says quietly, moving closer to her to rub a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Look, I’m sorry alright? But you _are_ different now. I just–I know it’s uncomfortable for you, and honestly Jemma, you’re running out of pants to wear.” 

She rolls her eyes fondly and squeezes his hand. “Alright. You’re right. No water in the lab.”

He leans forward and pecks a kiss onto her cheek. She wrinkles her nose fondly and turns quickly enough to catch his lips.

***

“Do you see anything, Simmons?” Skye asks over the comms. Jemma scans the streets of Seattle, hood pulled up over her head. 

“No,” Jemma sighs. “No sign of him. Are we sure–” 

“This is Ward’s last known location,” Skye finishes. “He’s here somewhere. He’s been on this particular block every day at this time for weeks, I’ve checked every traffic cam–” 

Jemma isn’t sure why she’s so surprised that it starts raining, but she hadn’t exactly considered the possibility that natural weather phenomenons would put her at risk of…well, becoming a mermaid in the middle of a public street.

“Oh no,” she groans. “Uh, Fitz? Are you close by?” 

“What’s up?” he pants. “Mack and I have eyes.” 

“We have a fin situation,” she says tiredly. 

“Be there in five,” Fitz says. “Just…duck into that alley behind you.” 

She does as she’s told, sitting against a brick wall as her legs morph into a sparkly gold fin. She glares at it petulantly.

“I hate you,” she grumbles to it. She gives it a big flick and sighs, knocking the back of her head on the bricks. “I really liked those pants.” 

Fitz rounds the corner with his hands on his hips, looking reluctantly bemused.

“Don’t,” she warns him.

He chokes on a laugh and holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” she whines. “I can see it in your face.”

He pulls a fire blanket out of his pack and wraps it around her fin before hoisting her into his arms with a loud grunt.

“I’ve gotten much stronger since this started happening,” he notes happily. “Carrying you around all the time seems to suit me.” 

“I hate you,” she grumbles into his neck, cheeks hot as he carries her to the SUV where Coulson waits. 

“Nah,” he denies easily. “You couldn’t.” 

***

She’s grateful for her new…skill when she watches Bobbi plummet off of a bridge into dark, foreboding waters after taking a gun shot to the shoulder.

“BOB!” Hunter screams into the darkness. Jemma stares at the image on her tablet from the safety of the surveillance van. 

“No,” Fitz whispers. “No, no, no.” 

Jemma acts fast. She tosses her tablet at him and yanks open the van door, sprinting for the edge of the bridge. Fitz follows closely behind her, following after her rather desperately.

“JEMMA NO!” 

She takes a running leap off of the bridge, screaming the whole way down. Her sudden burst of courage does nothing to lessen her fear of falling from great heights. As soon as she falls into the cold waters, her legs morph. She takes in a deep breath, incredibly grateful for her newly amphibuous lungs. Even in the dark waters, she can see Bobbi’s form sinking, her head limp.

Jemma swims as quickly as she can. She’s hardly stretched her fin before, always stuck in a tank or a bathtub. She finds that it propels her incredibly quickly, and she can’t help but bitterly wish she’d had it that day in the med pod. One breath wouldn’t have mattered.

She pushes the thought aside, focusing solely on grasping onto Bobbi and swimming her to a nearby bank.

Fitz, Hunter, and Skye wait for them there, prepared with a med kit and worried eyes. Jemma quickly sets about performing CPR, sighing in relief as Bobbi coughs and splutters back to consciousness.

“Maybe that thing is good for something after all,” Hunter remarks, nodding at her fin. 

Jemma barks out a relieved laugh, nodding tired against Fitz’s chest.

***

“You’re not funny,” Jemma says, but she’s grinning anyway so Skye knows she’s not actually mad.

“Aw, c’mon,” Skye teases. “Don’t you want to learn more about the history of your people?” 

On the common room TV, Tom Hanks lays eyes on the mermaid in Splash for the first time.

Fitz smirks beside Skye, holding up another DVD. “Little Mermaid is up next. Did I ever tell you I had quite a crush on Ariel growing up?”

Jemma rolls her eyes and collapses between them. “Ha, ha.”

“I’m serious!” he yelps. “She’s by far the cutest princess. I mean, I had a hard time figuring out how I would deal with the whole…fin, thing, but–” 

“Nope!” Skye interrupts, face crinkled in disgust. “I really don’t want to know where this is going.” 

Jemma blushes hot and nudges him with her elbow. “Fitz!”

“Oi, it’s not like I was talking about you!” he defends. “Besides, you’re an On Demand Mermaid. I don’t have any issues with getting to your–” 

“STOP!” Skye and Jemma shriek in unison. Skye covers her ears as Jemma slaps her hands over her face.

Fitz pops a large handful of popcorn into his mouth and shrugs, obviously rather pleased with himself.

“I was going to say feet,” he quips. 

Jemma lays her head on his shoulder with a fond but exasperated sigh. His arm wraps around her and she snuggles closer.

She supposes there are worse things that could have happened in that cave.


	127. Steggy and FitzSimmons (Hollywood AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finds out about FitzSimmons being official.

“PEG!” Steve shouts down the hallway. “PEGGY!” 

Predictably, his wife does not seem amused by his antics. “What, Steven?” 

He grimaces at the use of his full name but it does nothing to dampen his excitement. He jogs down the hallway holding Page Six. He’d plucked it out of the paper just to throw it in the trash, as he always did, but then something had caught his eye. 

**_LEO FITZ AND JEMMA SIMMONS: IT’S TRUE LOVE_ **

Steve finds Peggy in their bedroom, finishing up curling her hair. He smacks the paper down on the counter with a little smile. 

“I knew it would happen,” he says smugly. “I told you at the Oscars in 2008–” 

“That’s just gossip!” Peggy denies immediately, putting down her curling iron to get a better look. “How many times have you gotten so excited over a rumor?” 

“It’s not a rumor this time! That’s from their premiere. Look at the interview quote!” Steve argues excitedly. 

He watches as Peggy’s eyes skim the article, locking on a quote. 

_“Well, after so many years of pretending to be in love, we figured we might as well give the real thing a try,” Jemma Simmons joked to reporters at the red carpet premiere of Maveth on Friday night.  
_

_“She really knows how to knock me down a peg,” Leo Fitz retorted. Then Jemma Simmons soundly kissed him._

_That’s right, folks. Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons are finally an item, and perhaps no one is happier about it than they are._

Peggy attempts to straighten her smile, but Steve knows her better than that. Her lips quirk up on the ends despite her self-restraint. “It seems as though I owe you money. I really didn’t think it would happen. Not to say I’m not thrilled for them, it was obvious that they were in love. I just didn’t expect either of them to do anything about it.” 

Steve grins and leans forward to kiss her lips, tucking a still-warm curl behind her ear. “And I’m not sure why you didn’t believe me.” 

“It was clear from the beginning that she didn’t know what she wanted,” Peggy says with a shrug. 

Steve chuckles and tugs her a little closer. “Unlike someone I know.” 

“Damn straight,” she smirks. “I knew it the moment I met you and I did what I needed to do to.” 

“I’m glad you did.” 

She indulges him with a long kiss but he pulls himself away before things get too heated. She frowns at him immediately and he bites back a smile. 

“So, with inflation, do you think it’s about…five hundred dollars now? Or is it closer to six?” 

Peggy smacks his chest and turns back to curling her hair. “I’ll remind you that I was right about Clint and Natasha, so if you ask me, that makes us even.” 

“Let’s call it even then,” he says easily, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. There’s always been something mesmerizing about watching her go about her routine. Even after ten years of marriage, that hasn’t seemed to fade. 

She catches his eye in the mirror and he doesn’t miss the little look of mischief there. It’s very rare that Peggy Carter is wrong, and Steve has never been happier to be right. 


	128. Mediator AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: FitzSimmons + Ghost/Living Person AU 
> 
> Based on the YA book series The Mediator

Jemma sneaks back in through her window just past two o’clock in the morning. She shrugs out of her hoodie and collapses onto her bed with a little whine. She’ll have to wake up extra-early to beat her step-brother Lance to the shower, and she certainly can’t arrive at school covered in mud. 

“What was it this time?” 

She’s not surprised to hear his voice. She’s grown accustomed to it in the months since her mum had married Lance’s dad, moving her all the way from New York City to Carmel, California. 

She rolls over to look at him, illuminated by the light coming in through the window. He’s dressed like he always is–after all, ghosts don’t exactly have the opportunity for many wardrobe changes. A pair of tight brown trousers and a white button-down shirt, half-tucked, as always. 

“You know,” she observes tiredly. “You lucked out. Most of the men who died in the 1800s were in their opera clothes, it seems.” 

“You meet many other men from the 1800s?” Fitz asks. He perches on her windowseat and she hides her smile at the apparent jealousy in his tone. 

“Just a few,” she remarks. “Don’t worry, Fitz, you’re still my favorite.” 

He rolls his eyes but she can see a faint flush on his cheeks. To the rest of the world, he’s invisible; he’s completely incorporeal. But for her, and for other Mediators like her, he’s as solid and real as any living person. 

Which is why being in love with him is so complicated.

“Don’t distract me,” he chides her. “Where did you go?” 

“You could have just tagged along,” she huffs. “Remember that accident a few weeks back? Those drunk kids?” 

He frowns and nods solemnly. “Yes.” 

“Well, one of them buried her dead mother’s necklace at a park when she was a kid so that her younger sister would never get it,” Jemma explains. “She dragged me all around trying to dig it up, but we found it. Now it’s on her family’s porch with a note for her sister.” 

“Not a note from her,” Fitz worries. Jemma scoffs.

“Do you think I’m an amateur?” she asks. “I’ve been at this for years, Fitz.” 

“I recall having to pull you out from underneath a car your first week here,” he reminds her, half-bitter and half-teasing. “So forgive me for my concern.” 

Jemma drags herself up to change out of her soiled clothes, rolling her eyes when Fitz immediately turns his back. “It’s not 1820 anymore, you’re allowed to see a woman’s ankles.” 

“I’ve been dead for over 200 years,” he reminds her. It still twists her heart to hear it. 

“I’m done,” she tells him as she pulls her pajama top over her head. He waits a beat before he turns; she’d tricked him more than once and he hadn’t found it as funny as she had. 

“Your mother bought that for you,” he remarks dully. She frowns when she follows his pointed finger to a dress hanging on the back of her door. It’s blue and silky, all the way to the floor with a plunging neckline that only Christy Simmons would ever find appropriate for her 17-year-old daughter. 

“Oh, right,” she says, voice thin. “Homecoming.” 

He gives her a tight lipped smile. “Going with Will, are ya?” 

She swallows and shrugs. “Well, he hasn’t formally asked me yet.” 

“He’s going to,” Fitz says roughly. The tone of his voice surprises her, but as soon as she looks up to ask him about it, he’s disappeared. 

She sighs, slipping beneath her sheets and setting her alarm for six a.m. Any further drama with the dead will have to wait. 


	129. Brenda Fitz Takes The Playground

> “Brenda, please,” Jemma hisses into the phone. “Get on the plane. Bobbi and Hunter are good friends of ours, you can trust them.” 
> 
> “Why is this giant blonde woman carrying those sticks?!” Brenda squawks on the other side of the phone. Jemma cringes and looks around the corner, ensuring that Fitz can’t hear her. 
> 
> “That’s just…it’s her thing. Fitz carries around his drones, I carry my knife, she carries her–” 
> 
> “Jemma Simmons,” Brenda snaps. “What are you doing running around with a knife?” 
> 
> “Chastise me when you get here,” Jemma sighs tiredly. “He has no idea you’re coming and this is the first birthday I get to spend with him in two years, Brenda.” 
> 
> She hears Fitz’s mum huff. “Fine. I’ll get on this plane, but if anything happens–” 
> 
> “You will come back and haunt me, I know,” Jemma finishes with a fond, if exasperated, smile. “I’ll see you soon.” 
> 
> “He’s lucky to have you, Jemma,” Brenda says seriously. 
> 
> “It’s the other way around.” 
> 
> She bids her goodbye and takes a moment to collect herself. 
> 
> “Hey,” Fitz greets as he rounds the corner. “Who was that?” 
> 
> “No one!” Jemma chirps. “Just…my brother.” 
> 
> Fitz frowns. “You don’t have a brother, Jemma.” 
> 
> “Please,” Jemma begs. “Can we just…drop this? Because if you keep asking me questions I’m going to spoil a big surprise I have planned for you, and–” 
> 
> Fitz chuckles warmly and kisses her forehead. “Alright, alright. Although I was a little curious to see how that brother thing was going to go.” 
> 
> She narrows her eyes at him. “Last time someone put me on the spot like that, I shot him in the chest. Don’t forget that.” 
> 
> He shudders dramatically and she leans up to kiss him lightly. “I gave you one job, Simmons.” 
> 
> “As if you don’t enjoy reaping the benefits of my bad girl shenanigans,” she grins. It’s less flirty than she intends and far goofier than should probably be allowed for a woman with two PhDs, but that’s just the effect Fitz has on her. 
> 
> “This couldn’t have anything to do with my birthday, could it?” he asks warningly. “Because you know I don’t like a big fuss.” 
> 
> “It’s the first birthday we’ve spent together in two years,” Jemma gasps. “And our first one as a proper couple.” 
> 
> He sighs, the kind of sigh that lets her know he’s resigned himself to losing. “Fine. Alright. Fuss on, then.” 
> 
> She hops up, kissing him one last time, and turns to skip off. “Don’t go in the lab until I say so!” 
> 
> She’s nearly gone before he realizes what she’s just asked of him.
> 
> “Hey! Where am I supposed to work?!” 
> 
> *** 

> Sneaking Brenda Fitz through the base isn’t exactly easy. She’s loud and bossy, and Bobbi and Hunter don’t seem nearly as enamored with her as Jemma is. 
> 
> “I need a bloody drink,” Hunter grumbles as soon as Jemma arrives to intercept them.
> 
> “No!” Jemma snaps. “You two are part of the surprise. Into the lab you go.” 
> 
> Bobbi smiles at her and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Hey Jemma.” 
> 
> “Bobbi,” Jemma replies. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so widely at the friends she hasn’t seen or heard from in nearly a year. “I would be asking more questions about…well, everything, but we’ve got some planning to do.” 
> 
> Bobbi nods in understanding. “Got it. Just put us where you need us.” 
> 
> Hunter complains and whines but Jemma can see how pleased he is to be back at the base with a job to do. As soon as she sets Bobbi on balloon duty and Hunter on sitting-still-and-not-ruining-anything duty, Brenda grabs her by the biceps and stares at her, long and hard.
> 
> “You look good,” she finally says, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. “So much better than the last time I saw you, sweetheart.” 
> 
> Jemma buries her face in Brenda’s curly mop of hair and sighs with relief. Last time she had seen Brenda had been on her way to Hydra. She’d stopped in Sheffield for a brief visit with her parents, and then spent a single afternoon in Glasgow with Fitz’s mum. 
> 
> “Circumstances have certainly improved,” Jemma says impishly. 
> 
> “He sent me pictures of your little holiday,” Brenda says fondly as she pulls away. “Only the two of you would spend a weekend in the freezing cold to watch some sort of light show–” 
> 
> “The Northern Lights are a stunning phenomenon!” Jemma defends, but her heart isn’t in it. “Oh, Brenda, he’s going to be so excited to see you. He misses you so much.” 
> 
> “I miss him too,” Brenda admits candidly. “But I’ve missed him for years, you know. You get used to it.” 
> 
> “I don’t think I ever could,” Jemma says quietly. Her mind briefly flashes to the lonely nights in her Hydra studio apartment and then to the bleak blue of Maveth. She shakes herself and musters up a smile. “But we’ve always been inseparable, he and I.” 
> 
> Brenda places a hand on her cheek and pats it affectionately. “Yes you have. The only thing that keeps me sane is knowing he has you watching out for him, Jemma.” 
> 
> “And I always will be,” Jemma vows seriously. Brenda rolls her eyes. 
> 
> “You two, so fond of the dramatics.” 
> 
> Jemma laughs and begins to make the introductions as Coulson, May, Daisy, Lincoln, Mack, and all of the others filter in to the lab one-by-one per Jemma’s very specific time table. The Tardis cake sits on his desk, streamers hang from every inch of the lab, and Bobbi’s impressive collections of balloons stand like palm trees in each corner. 
> 
> Jemma picks up her phone with inexplicably shaking hands and calls Fitz’s cell phone. 
> 
> “I assume it’s time then?” he answers. She laughs and nods before realizing that he can’t see her. 
> 
> “Yes it is,” she says. “Come to the lab as soon as you’ve finished up with–” 
> 
> “Well I’ve had nothing to work on, have I?” he retorts, but there’s no fire to it. “You’ve kicked me out of my workspace.” 
> 
> She hears his voice growing louder as he makes his way down the hall toward the lab. “Sorry about that.” 
> 
> “I’m sure you’re not. Hey, is this finally going to be that thing we talked about? Because I really don’t think that the middle of the day is the best time to have se–” 
> 
> “FITZ!” Jemma screeches. Everyone can hear him now and he enters the lab with his phone to his ear, jaw dropping as his eyes land on his mother. 
> 
> “I don’t want to know what the end of that sentence was,” Brenda teases. He stares at her, phone clattering to the ground. 
> 
> “Mum?” 
> 
> “Hi, darling,” she breathes. He continues to stare, blinking owlishly at her. “No hug for your old mum?” 
> 
> He rushes forward and hugs her, Jemma’s eyes burning with happy tears to see the Fitzes reunited after so long. Daisy and Bobbi stand beside her, cheering excitedly. 
> 
> “Oi!” Hunter shouts, interrupting the moment. Bobbi reaches over to smack him but he continues. “I’d like a snuggle too, mate!” 
> 
> Fitz spins around so fast he nearly falls over. “Hunter? Bobbi?!” 
> 
> He races to his friends and hugs them simultaneously, an awkward feat given the height discrepancies. 
> 
> “Surprise,” Jemma murmurs when he finally shuffles over to her, eyes sparkling with awe. 
> 
> “How did you–” 
> 
> “It was nothing,” Jemma shrugs. “Happy birthday, Fitz.” 
> 
> “I love you,” he blurts out. 
> 
> It’s the first time he’s said it. They’ve danced around it, used other terms for it, said it in every other way except _actually_ saying it. She opens and closes her mouth a couple of times. 
> 
> “I love you too,” she finally says, her lips already on his and her arms stretching up around his neck. 
> 
> Everyone cheers, somewhere in the distance, and when she pulls away Fitz is immediately tugged into a corner to take a shot with Fitz and Mack. Lincoln sips on soda and makes Brenda’s hair stand on end when she doesn’t believe his super powers. May stops Daisy from showing off her own set of skills, and Jemma simply watches, content and warm, on a stool.
> 
> “So,” Bobbi says, leaning against the counter beside her. “You tell me. Is the ride worth it?” 
> 
> “Oh yes,” Jemma answers as she watches Fitz screw up his face from the bad tequila. “It really is.” 


	130. Hogwarts AU (Head Boy and Head Girl)

Hunter practically shoves him into the compartment, causing Fitz to fall gracelessly onto one of the seats. Jemma Simmons glances up in surprise, tearing her eyes away from the pages of the textbook for their new Charms class. 

“We couldn’t find a compartment,” Hunter lies easily, taking a seat beside Bobbi Morse and putting his arm on the back of the seat behind her. The tall blonde Gryffindor brushes his arm away with a warning glare.

“Hunter,” she says dispassionately. 

“Bobbi,” he greets with a pleased grin. “I missed you over the summer, love.” 

“That makes one of us,” she snaps back. Fitz sighs, tugging on his red and gold tie nervously and risking a look in Jemma’s direction. She looks amused by their respective friends’ antics. 

“They’ll never quit it,” Jemma murmurs to him. His face instantly heats up and he forces himself to remain calm. 

He’s had a crush on Jemma Simmons since he watched her flounce up to the Sorting Hat stool and sit on it with all the confidence of a queen on a throne. His knees had been knocking together when he made the same walk–which is why, even six years later, he’s shocked that the hat had yelled GRYFFINDOR. 

“Oh, I think her disdain only makes him grow stronger,” Fitz finally manages. “You know how Hunter is.” 

“He does love to chase bright and shiny things,” Jemma observes dryly. “It makes him a wonderful seeker but also a pest.” 

Fitz barks out a laugh, fishing for anything he can say to add to this conversation. “I didn’t know you liked Quidditch.” 

Jemma leans in conspiratorially and he has to resist the urge to sniff her hair. “I actually don’t,” she admits with a cautious look in Bobbi’s direction. “But I’ve got to go to every match or Bobbi and Daisy would have my head.” 

“So you’re pretty much stuck at every one, then,” Fitz laments. “Bobbi’s on Gryffindor, you’ve got Daisy on Hufflepuff–” 

“Well, I’d still go to the Gryffindor matches, even if Bobbi wasn’t on the team,” Jemma shrugs, looking away from him quite suddenly and toying with the edges of her book. He frowns, brow furrowed in confusion. 

“How come?” he asks, feeling rather thick but also overcome with a desperate need to hear her answer. Bobbi and Hunter’s bickering grows louder and he nearly misses her response. 

“Well, not all the ones chasing the bright and shiny things are pests,” she mumbles, cheeks flushing pink. “I–I quite like to watch you play.” 

He swears he leaves his body for a moment. Then he catches a glint of something on the front of her uniform. “Wait, are you Head Girl?” 

She looks up to smile proudly with a perky little nod. “Yes. Mum and Dad were so excited.” 

“I suppose we should probably leave these two to it,” Fitz says with a jerk of his head. He taps his Head Boy badge with shaky fingers. “The fifth year prefects won’t figure it out for themselves.” 

She gasps loudly and reaches forward to squeeze his hand in excitement. “Oh, how wonderful!” she exclaims. “I’m so excited we’ll be partners.” 

Hunter cuts off his tirade to direct his attention at Fitz and Jemma. “Oh well that’s just perfect, then. Makes it much easier for Fitz to make his move.” 

“Hunter!” Fitz hisses. “Shut up!” 

“Who said Fitz will be the one making moves?” Jemma asks rather defiantly. Fitz practically chokes behind her and she stands confidently, giving a haughty look to Fitz’s Slytherin best friend. “Come on, Fitz. We really should head out.” 

She leaves Hunter gaping and Bobbi grinning, a dumbfounded Fitz staring after her. Bobbi kicks out one long leg to strike the back of his shin. 

“You might wanna go, Fitz,” Bobbi suggests wryly. “You shouldn’t leave Jemma waiting.” 

With the same surge of adrenaline that comes with chasing the Snitch, he dashes off after her. 


	131. Heterochromia (Soulmate AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soulmate AU where you have one color eye as your own and one as your soulmate's until you meet.

When Skye comes bursting into the coffee shop with two matching eyes, Jemma _really_ wants to be happy for her. Having matching eyes means that Skye met her soulmate, and after spending her entire life alone–well, Skye certainly deserves that.

But Jemma can’t quite smash the small twinge of jealousy in her chest. She’s pretended for years that this whole thing is stupid, or a scientific fluke, or anything that she can rationalize or explain. It isn’t, though. It’s been this way for hundreds of years and even the brightest minds have found no explanation. 

So Jemma wakes every morning with one brown eye and one blue, unsure of which one is really hers and which belongs to her counterpart. 

“It happened!” Skye gushes as she collapses into the chair across from her. Jemma already ordered Skye’s usual vanilla latte, and the hacker grabs it gratefully, chugging half and slamming the paper cup down. “I’m exhausted. We were up all night.” 

“Oh, Skye,” Jemma sighs. “You know that soulmates sometimes don’t work out, especially when it’s rushed!” 

“It wasn’t even like that,” Skye defends. “Trip–that’s his name, Trip. Well, really it’s Antoine Triplett but he goes by Trip. Anyway, we just _talked_. All freaking night. It was like–I couldn’t seem to run out of things to say. He’s the most interesting person I’ve ever met and the crazy thing is, he thinks the same thing about _me.”_

Jemma musters up a smile and nods encouragingly. “Please tell me you took a photo.” 

Skye snorts and whips out her phone, unlocking it quickly and sliding it over. “I swear to you, I think this man was carved by the gods themselves.” 

Jemma raises her brows in appreciation as she checks out the beaming smile of Skye’s soulmate. “Wow. He’s really something.” 

“Isn’t he?” Skye sighs dreamily. Then something seems to come over her and she snatches the phone back with a grimace. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so in your face about it.” 

“What? No!” Jemma rushes. “I’m fine, Skye, really. You know me, I’ve never been concerned with finding mine.” 

Skye doesn’t seem convinced. Just as Jemma opens her mouth to argue her case once more, someone drops a stack of paperwork. He curses lightly under his breath, the Scottish lilt of his voice immediately catching her attention. She leans down and hands him the last one. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “That’s what I get for rushing.” 

Then he’s out of the door before she can even say “no problem.” Jemma sighs and straightens, ready to continue their conversation, but Skye’s newly-matching eyes are wide like saucers.

“Brown!” Skye shouts. Jemma screws up her face in confusion.

“What?” 

“Brown!” Skye yells again. “Brown, your eyes are brown!” 

“Wha–” 

“Jemma, that Scottish guy was your freaking soulmate!” Skye practically screeches. Jemma flinches at the sound before understanding washes over her. 

“Oh. Oh my god.” 

“Yes, oh my god! He can’t have gotten very far!” Skye says excitedly, grabbing her coffee and leading the charge out of the coffee shop. Jemma scrambles after her, gathering her things as quickly as she can and dashing onto the sidewalk. 

“HEY!” Skye shouts at him as he fumbles with his car keys down the block. “BLUE EYES!” 

He doesn’t look up and Jemma walks as quickly as she possibly can, her heart beating wildly in her chest. He’s just getting his car door open, still jostling his papers back and forth, when she reaches him. 

“Ah!” he shouts in surprise. “I didn’t see you coming. What are you–” 

“Blue,” she whispers. He steps back, looking a bit frightened by her, and then realization dawns on his face. 

“Oh,” he says after a beat. “My…are my…they’re blue?” 

“Mhm,” Jemma hums, rocking nervously on her feet. She gestures at her face, nearly poking one of her eyes. “Mine are brown, turns out.” 

“They–yep, that they are.” 

“I’m Jemma,” she says, sticking out her hand. He drops all of his papers onto the street and she watches as two of them flutter away in the wind. 

“Fitz,” he introduces. He winces and takes a sharp breath. “Well, Leo. Technically Leopold but–no one likes to be called that, do they?” 

She squeezes his hand and forgets to let go for a long moment. “Leo Fitz.” 

“Jemma…” 

“Simmons,” she finishes. His eyes widen as he watches more of his stuff blow down the street. 

“Shit. Those are actually midterms.” 

“You’re a professor?” she asks excitedly. “Of what?” 

“Can we–I’ll be right back. Hold that thought!” 

He runs clumsily down the street, chasing the papers and dodging cars with shouted apologies. Jemma hides a laugh behind her hand as Skye sidles up to watch with her. 

“I can see it,” Skye observes dryly. “The two of you seem like two awkward British peas in a pod.” 

Jemma rolls her eyes. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Skye?” 

Skye laughs and shoves Jemma lightly as she backs away. “Don’t forget, Jemma. _Sometimes soulmates don’t work out_.” 

Skye’s approximation of her accent is terrible as ever but Jemma doesn’t even comment on it. “Goodbye, Skye.” 

“See ya! You better call me later!” 

Leo Fitz finally snatches the last of the midterms off of the sidewalk with a triumphant little shout and Jemma grins as he makes his way back toward her. They’ve hardly spoken three words to each other and she already feels _something_ that she can’t quite explain. 

She’s quite looking forward to figuring it out. 


	132. Punk Chicks

“I know this place is a dive,” Hunter says as soon as they enter the bar. “But I’m telling you, these birds are more than worth it.” 

“You’ve said that about a lot of bands,” Fitz reminds him grumpily. “The last show we went to was just creepy.” 

Hunter cringes. “Admittedly, The Lanyards were weird. I didn’t realize they were quadruplets, nor did I know that there would be so much tamborine involved.” 

“I’m just saying this had better be worth it,” Fitz says as he leans against the back wall of the seedy club. Just being in here makes his fingers itch for a cigarette. The crowd shifts and he looks up to find three women setting up on stage. 

“Thanks so much for coming out,” the lead singer of the band says. She’s tall and blonde, with long legs that end in a pair of Doc Marten boots. Hunter’s eyes light up as soon as he sets his gaze on her and Fitz begins to wonder if they’re really here for the music. 

Then he spots the bass player, a doe-eyed brunette in a vintage sundress and combat boots, a leather jacket tugged over it. She clears her throat and leans in to the mic in front of her. 

“We’re so excited to be here tonight. A big thanks to The Playground for inviting us out. We’re The Quaking Birds and this is Chemical.” 

She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and he can’t take his eyes off of her. The drummer, a short-haired brunette with mysterious eyes and an enigmatic little smile with a daisy tucked behind one ear, counts them in and they begin to play.

“Holy shit,” Fitz shouts to Hunter after just one verse. “They’re incredible!” 

“I told you!” Hunter yells back. “I fixed up Bobbi’s guitar at the shop the other day and she played me their demo!” 

Fitz shakes his head in awe as The Bass Player pouts, plucking the strings with a furrowed brow and single-minded determination. Bobbi–the lead singer, or at least Fitz is assuming that’s who Hunter had been looking out for–sings loud, raw vocals that leave the whole room vibrating as the drummer bangs out a window-rattling beat. 

Within minutes, a mosh pit has started in the center of the crowd and even those who dodge the mayhem bounce and jump to the music. Fitz, notorious for his rather stoic demeanor even at shows, finds himself jumping out into the fray with Hunter, eyes never leaving The Bass Player. 

Her eyes meet his in the crowd somewhere during their fourth song, called Cosmos, and he swears the floor must fall right out from under him when she throws him a little wink. Their set is over all too soon, and the crowd boos as they get replaced by an overrated local band called Hydra. Hydra’s frontman Grant Ward glares at them as they leave, knocking his shoulder harshly against Bobbi. 

“Watch it,” he growls. Bobbi scoffs and rolls her eyes, but The Bass Player steps in his way with her tiny hands clenched into fists. 

“Back off,” she spits. 

“You’re just a fucking opener,” he retorts. “Everyone here is here for us.” 

The Bass Player barks out a laugh. “And yet they’re booing you. You really are the king idiot.” 

She stalks off with a little flounce and Fitz watches her disappear backstage. Hunter taps him on the shoulder and waves his cell phone in Fitz’s direction. 

“Bobbi texted to pop back and say hi. You coming?” 

He nods dumbly, feeling his palms begin to sweat. He contemplates shedding his denim vest but realizes that he’s probably covered in unattractive sweat stains. Wiping his hands on his tattered black jeans, he follows Hunter into the backstage area. 

The Bass Player sits rather primly on a grimy sofa, while the drummer excitedly paces around, rambling about the strengths of their set. Bobbi sits with her legs kicked up, sipping on a beer.

“Hunter,” she smiles. Fitz can see sweat around her hair line, pieces of her hair sticking to her neck. Hunter beams at her and takes a seat on the amp beside her feet. 

“You were bloody brilliant,” he compliments. “Seriously, wish you coulda played all night.” 

“And who’s this?” the drummer asks, pointing at Fitz with a drumstick. 

“This is my mate, Fitz,” Hunter introduces. 

“Daisy,” the drummer introduces. The Bass Player looks up from her dress with a small smile.

“And I’m Jemma,” she introduces. “Nice to meet you, Fitz.” 

“Yeah, you too,” he manages to get out. “You were–wow. Just killer out there.” 

Her eyes roam his vest, examining the many pins and patches sewn and clipped on. She lights up when she looks at one of them. 

“No way, you like The Cavalry?!” 

“One of my favorites,” Fitz grins, excited to find some common ground with the literal rockstar in front of him. 

Well, she’s not exactly a rockstar, since she’s playing free shows in a dingy club, but she could be if she wanted to and Fitz knows it. 

“I saw them at The Greek,” Jemma says, turning around to show him the patch sewn onto her jacket, just where her shoulder blades would be. She shrugs out of it and tosses it to him so he can examine it further. “Melinda May is the reason I got into music in the first place. I got a chance to meet her and she’s just…well, she’s actually terrifying but she’s brilliant.” 

Daisy watches them interact with a little smirk and taps her sticks together. “I’m gonna go find Lincoln. It’s way too loud in here, I’ll probably ask him to go somewhere else.” 

Bobbi tears herself away from her bickering conversation with Hunter. “Yeah, I can’t listen to this Hydra bullshit anymore.” 

“I’ve got a rare demo of The Cavalry’s first studio record,” Fitz offers to Jemma awkwardly, shifting from side to side. “I mean, if you wanna hear it. It’s in my car.” 

She bites her lip and exchanges a look with Bobbi, who nods approvingly. Her lips quirk up into a little smile and she stands, locking up the hard case for her bass and hoisting it up. 

“Let me get that,” Fitz offers. She looks as if she might turn him down, but then she sighs and hands it over. He stumbles slightly under the weight and leads the way out to his old, beat down car. 

In the lighting of the parking lot, she’s somehow even more beautiful. Her mascara runs from the sweat of being on stage and she slumps forward with exhaustion, but the combination of her talent and her…well, everything else, has Fitz feeling incredibly star struck. 

Before he presses play on his CD player, he freezes and stares at her. “I feel like I’m hanging out with a celebrity.” 

She barks out a laugh and shakes her head. “Oh please. We can barely book a gig.” 

“Well you’re a celebrity to me,” he shrugs. “Consider me your number one fan.” 

She looks away from him, seeming very pleased with his statement. With a loud crank, she leans her seat all the way back to stare out of his open sun roof. 

With a shaking hand, Fitz presses play as the sounds of The Cavalry singing a rough-cut version of Bahrain play through his speakers. He cranks his own seat back and looks over to his right, meeting her gaze. She grins at him and then shuts her eyes to soak in the music. He tries to do the same, but he can’t keep them closed. They keep opening on their own accord; he can’t resist the urge to watch her listen to the music. 


	133. A Cinderella Story AU

> “You’re going to that dance,” Melinda says sternly. It’s hard to take her seriously in her diner uniform but Jemma long ago learned that Melinda is _never_ joking. 
> 
> Jemma throws up her hands in frustration, glancing over wearily at Hunter in his bad approximation of a Zoro outfit. “I don’t have anything to wear. It’s a Halloween dance.” 
> 
> Melinda regards her carefully before nodding decisively. “We’re closing the diner early.” 
> 
> “But–” 
> 
> “I don’t care what your step-monster says,” Melinda shrugs easily. Jemma knows that this is more than true. “Phil! We’re heading out.” 
> 
> The cook pops his head out of the window. “Is Jemma going?” 
> 
> “Yes,” Melinda calls back. She turns back to Jemma–and Hunter, by proxy. “Come on. We’re going to my house.” 
> 
> “Is she going to kill me?” Hunter asks Jemma quietly. “Because you know she hates me, and my dad let me take his Benz tonight.” 
> 
> Jemma snorts. “I’ll protect you, don’t worry.” 
> 
> Ever since Jemma’s father died when she was young, leaving his beloved diner to his fairly recent wife, her life had been…less than ideal. Her dreams of going to Princeton and becoming a writer had been dashed by her truly wicked step mother, Whitney Frost. Jemma’s phone beeps in her hand, wrenching her from her thoughts of the letter she still hasn’t received from her dream school. 
> 
> _I really hope to see you there tonight_
> 
> She flushes, hiding her face even as Hunter nudges her. “Still talking to your secret admirer, huh?” 
> 
> “Shut up,” Jemma hisses, glancing over at Melinda. Melinda looks at them through the rearview mirror. 
> 
> “I know all about him,” Melinda says. “And that’s why I’m making you go to this dance. You deserve to be happy, and it’s about time you got your chance.” 
> 
> Jemma swallows the lump in her throat and follows Melinda up the drive to her house. She sits down in the living room with a very nervous Hunter as Melinda disappears, only to return with a large white box. She opens it slowly and presents the dress to Jemma. 
> 
> “Oh my God,” she whispers, gazing at the sparkling bodice inside. It’s the most gorgeous gown that Jemma has ever seen, quite obviously a wedding dress. “Melinda, I can’t wear this.” 
> 
> “You can and you will,” Melinda insists. 
> 
> “Why do you even–” 
> 
> “Not everyone’s fairytale works out,” Melinda cuts her off. “But yours can. Wear it.” 
> 
> “I don’t want him to know who I am,” Jemma says quietly. “What if–what if he’s disappointed?” 
> 
> “He’d be a bloody idiot!” Hunter proclaims in agitation. “Jemma, c’mon, we’re gonna be late for the dance–” 
> 
> “Here,” Melinda offers, holding out a white lace mask. “Wear this.” 
> 
> Hunter stares at her in shock. “What the hell? Where did you get that?” 
> 
> “Don’t ask her questions,” Jemma breathes, reaching out to grasp it. “Can you help me get ready?” 
> 
> Melinda nods and leads the way back to her bedroom, leaving Hunter pacing in his Zoro outfit in the living room. It only takes Melinda thirty minutes to turn Jemma’s greasy diner ponytail into flowing curls. 
> 
> As soon as Hunter sees her, he grins. “Wow,” he whistles. “You clean up nice, Simmons.” 
> 
> She rolls her eyes and shoves him. Melinda shoots him a glare. “You better have her home by midnight. That’s when Whitney is getting home.” 
> 
> Hunter nods seriously and salutes her. May, as always, remains completely unaffected by his goofy charm. 
> 
> Hunter helps her into his dad’s vintage Mercedes and drives–almost painfully slowly–to the hotel where the dance is being held. Jemma sucks in a sharp breath. She’ll finally meet her anonymous pen pal, who she just might be a little bit in love with. 
> 
> *** 

> Just before they reach the top of the stairs that will lead them to the ballroom, Jemma grabs Hunter by the arm and yanks him backwards. 
> 
> “You go alone,” she tells him, shaking her head in a panic. “I can’t do this.” 
> 
> “Yes you can,” he assures her firmly, gripping her by the shoulders. “You’re the best girl I know. Whoever this guy is, he obviously wants to meet you. Melinda was right, Jemma, you deserve to be happy. If you’re not doing homework you’re working at the diner or doing god knows what else for Whitney. You deserve this.” 
> 
> She takes a deep breath, shutting her eyes for a long moment before finally squeezing Hunter’s arm and making her way toward the stairs. Hunter stops her and gestures at his Zoro cape draped around her shoulders.
> 
> “C’mon. It’s time.” 
> 
> She sighs and slides it off, returning it to its owner and bracing herself to go down to the dance floor. In her four years of high school, she’s never actually been to any of these dances, and it feels like everyone turns to stare at her as she makes her way down the stairs. 
> 
> “What are they all staring at?” Hunter complains from a few steps in front of her. She tucks her hair behind her ears nervously, careful not to trip and fall with most of the school watching her. 
> 
> “We have to be home by midnight,” Jemma warns him when she reaches the bottom of the stairs. “So I’m getting the alarm on my phone for 11:45. That should give us time.” 
> 
> Hunter grins and nods. “Sounds good to me, love. It’s 9:00 now, you ought to get to the center of the dance floor.” 
> 
> Her heartbeat speeds up. Her anonymous friend–or admirer, crush, love of her life, either or really–had requested that she meet him in the middle of the dance floor at this time. She watches Hunter make his way toward a group of popular girls who look at him with distaste; as always, he seems unruffled. She smiles fondly at her best friend and then shuffles through the gyrating students to stand beneath the disco ball. 
> 
> “It’s you,” a familiar voice breathes. She twirls around and stares at Leo Fitz, of all people, dressed in a Prince Charming costume and looking utterly awestruck with her. 
> 
> “Fitz,” she manages to get out. “You’re…him?” 
> 
> He gulps and nods, looking around rather nervously. “Can we go somewhere? To talk?” 
> 
> He reaches out to grab her hand but she pulls it back, shaking her head. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.” 
> 
> Jemma turns and leaves as quickly as her puffy ball gown will allow, Fitz hot on her heels. “Hey, wait! Please, wait!” 
> 
> “You’re you,” she explains shortly when she whirls around to face him. “And I’m me. In no universe do you fall for me.” 
> 
> “But I did,” he insists. “I know what you must think of me, but I’m not that guy, okay? Please, can we go for a walk?” 
> 
> Leo Fitz, star of the school soccer team, is the anonymous friend she’s been talking to nearly every day for almost a year. He offers his hand once again and she nervously takes it, letting him lead her to the hotel’s outdoor courtyard. 
> 
> As soon as they exit, he turns to her with a smile. “Can you at least take that mask off so I can see who you are? You know who I am now.” 
> 
> Her fingers fly up to toy with her mask. She bites her lip and shakes her head. 
> 
> “Alright well. Can I at least take a guess?” 
> 
> “You get three questions,” Jemma finally says. “And if you can get it after that you guess correctly, then we’ll see.” 
> 
> “Oh, we’ll see?” he teases. “Even if I get it right, you might not tell me?” 
> 
> “Well you _won’t_ get it right,” Jemma laughs. “You have no clue who I am.” 
> 
> “Hey!” he protests. “Just because I’m…well, y’know. Me. Doesn’t mean that I don’t know most of the people who go to our school.” 
> 
> “What’s the name of the girl who does the announcements?” Jemma fires back. He screws up his face in thought and she tries her best not to think about how cute it is. 
> 
> “Uhh..Tyra?” 
> 
> “Not even close,” Jemma groans. “It’s Bobbi.” 
> 
> “Right, right, Bobbi,” he rushes to correct. “No I knew that, you just didn’t give me a chance.” 
> 
> “Face it, Fitz,” Jemma shrugs as they stroll around the dimly illuminated path. “You and I come from two very different worlds. You’ve been great to talk to, but I think…we’re just too different, you and me.” 
> 
> He stops her, staring at her seriously. “Your eyes. I can’t believe I don’t remember those eyes.” 
> 
> She looks away from him quickly, cheeks heating up. “Apparently you don’t pay close enough attention.” 
> 
> He huffs, obviously getting frustrated with her evasions. “Everything I’ve told you about me is true. This person that you think I am–popular and all of that–it’s not really me. You’re the only person I’ve been myself with.” 
> 
> He takes a deep breath and plows forward. 
> 
> “I don’t even like playing football, alright? But my dad left when I was little and then he came back when I was eleven. The only thing we could seem to agree on was playing sports and he played at uni. I just wanted to be close to him even though I was so mad at him.” 
> 
> Jemma’s expression softens and she reaches out to touch his hand. He looks up at her cautiously, turning his palm over to grasp her fingers completely. 
> 
> “I play for him. For his dream. But it’s not what I love or who I am, and I don’t want you to think that I’m just some idiot jock or that I don’t–that you’re not the best person I’ve ever met.” 
> 
> Jemma licks her lips and begins abruptly walking down the path once again. It takes him a moment to catch up, but once he does, he matches his pace with hers. At the end of the path is a gazebo, lit up with fairy lights, and he grins as he helps her up the small wooden steps into it. 
> 
> “I think you might be the only person I find truly interesting,” she tells him. He steps closer, searching her face intently, and brushes a hand over the hair that’s fallen in her face. He tucks it back, leaning closer–
> 
> And then he smirks, doing a goofy little jump and bow. “Dance with me.” 
> 
> “There’s no music,” she laughs, amused by his antics. He shrugs easily. 
> 
> “So what?” 
> 
> Shaking her head, she allows him to twirl her slowly. He leads her around in a slow moving circle, the skirt of her dress twisted between them. They dance for some time, whispering and giggling and even though there’s no music, they keep an easy and steady pace, matching one another step for step. 
> 
> Finally, after a long while, he tentatively reaches out and attempts to remove her mask. She holds her breath, prepared to let him find out exactly who she is but not feeling quite brave enough to face the consequences. 
> 
> Then her alarm blares out in the quiet of the balmy LA night, her clutch on the railing of the gazebo vibrating with the force of her phone. She gasps and races for it, wrenching herself away from him even as his hands grasp for her. The sound of the ringer has her crashing back into reality; a reality where he is the most popular boy in school and she’s the invisible girl who works in the diner where his soccer player friends eat and make fun of her. He’s going to go to USC to play soccer and she will hopefully finally escape her horrible step-mother in favor of attending Princeton. 
> 
> Whatever this thing is between them, it can’t be anything and she knows that. She shakes herself, angry at her own ignorance, and turns to leave. 
> 
> “I have to go,” she rushes out, bolting down the path. 
> 
> “Wait! But you didn’t tell me your name!” 
> 
> She spins around and gives him a bittersweet smile. “I’m nobody, Fitz. It doesn’t matter.” 
> 
> “Hey, wait!” 
> 
> He calls after her but she picks up her skirts and runs as fast as she can. When she finally pushes through the crowd of people on the dance floor, they’re announcing the winner for best costume. 
> 
> “And the winner for best boy’s costume is…Leo Fitz as Prince Charming!” their goofy principal Mr. Coulson announces. The spotlight swivels to him as he bursts through the doors, Jemma already halfway up the stairs with a panting Hunter in tow.
> 
> “And for best girl’s costume, Cinderella!” 
> 
> The light heats up Jemma’s back but she doesn’t turn to accept her prize. In her haste to race back to the diner and change before Whitney returns, she doesn’t even notice the phone falling from her fingertips. In the age of smartphones and tablets, she’s probably the last person on earth with a little plastic flip phone. 
> 
> Fitz dashes up the staircase, stopping to pick it up. He freezes for only one brief moment before resuming his chase, fully intending on giving it back to her and convincing her to take off the mask.
> 
> When he slides into the parking lot, there’s no sight of her anywhere. He leans heavily on the wall of the hotel and stares at the phone. He doesn’t know who she is, but he does have this phone. 
> 
> It’s no glass slipper but it’s what he has to hold onto, so he slips it into his pocket and vows to find her first thing on Monday morning. He won’t forget those eyes and he has no doubt that he’ll be able to spot her. 


	134. Childhood Friends AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz and Jemma are childhood friends who meet again on their kids' first day of kindergarten.

> Jemma triple-checks the contents of her son’s backpack, fighting against the tightness of her throat as they stand in the kindergarten yard of Coulson Elementary. 
> 
> “Are you ready, sweetheart?” Jemma asks him. She can tell that he wants to roll his eyes–a bad habit he inherited from her, she knows–but he seems to read her anxiety and nods instead.
> 
> “Yes, mum. Can we go in please?” 
> 
> She sighs and takes his little hand with her clammy one. Sure, she had left him at daycare and pre-school but that was only three days a week. This is the beginning of a long school career. It’s the beginning of a long school career for him, her little boy. She hopes he finds a friend today, someone to protect him from the cruelty that sometimes comes with childhood.
> 
> She recalls her own protector. Well, they had protected each other, from the first day of grade school until they each went their own ways for university. He had moved to the U.S. and she had gone to Oxford. Emails flew back and forth frequently for the first year but then he couldn’t afford to come home and they both became busy, caught up in their respective new lives. Their communication had fallen off, but she often finds herself thinking of Leo Fitz, especially in the days after her failed marriage. 
> 
> Her son squares his tiny shoulders and drags her in to the classroom with determination written all over his tiny face. His Iron Man backpack takes up most of his body and she follows him with her heart in her throat. He’s supposed to be the one who cries, not her. 
> 
> She blinks her tears back and musters up the best smile she can as she enters the room, looking around at the other parents. Only a select few seem unaffected, and she hears one of them tell another that it isn’t her first rodeo–this is her third child and she’s gone through this before. 
> 
> “Mum, can I go play?” Charlie asks eagerly, pointing over to a group of boys playing with blocks. 
> 
> “Of course you can,” she says, patting his hair and leaning down to drop a kiss to it. “I’ll turn in your paperwork and then I’ll be back to pick you up at 3:00, okay?’ 
> 
> He smiles and hugs her around the legs before he bolts off to join the other little boys. She watches him plop down with the naive confidence of a five year old child, wringing her hands and waiting anxiously to see if he’ll be accepted by his peers. 
> 
> “Alright, baby girl,” she hears a Scottish voice murmur. “It’s going to be just fine, okay?” 
> 
> “What if I don’t make any friends?” a small voice replies, thick with tears. “What if no one likes me?”
> 
> “Everyone will love you,” he assures her warmly. “You’re the best, remember? And if you really, really want to come home, you just have your teacher call me, alright?” 
> 
> Jemma spins around, stomach swooping as she sees the familiar blue eyes of Leo Fitz as he hugs a little girl tightly, dropping a kiss to her head. 
> 
> “Fitz,” she blurts out. “Oh my God.” 
> 
> “Jemma?” he asks, gaping at her openly. “What are you–oh my god.” 

> “My son,” Jemma explains, gesturing toward Charlie. 
> 
> “This is my daughter,” Fitz says, squeezing the little girls shoulders. She glances up at Jemma nervously, big blue eyes just like her father’s. “Can you say hi to Jemma, Maggie?” 
> 
> “Hi Jemma,” Maggie murmurs quietly. She has unruly blonde curls and a sweet face that melts Jemma. Instinctively, she looks on Fitz’s left hand for a ring and finds none. 
> 
> Jemma senses Maggie’s nervousness and calls Charlie over. He obeys immediately despite being obviously tentative to leave his new little buddies. “Charlie, sweetheart, this is mum’s old friend, Fitz. HIs daughter Maggie is going to be at school with you.” 
> 
> “Hi Fitz!” Charlie chirps. “Hi Maggie! Hey, you’re in mum’s pitchers, I’ve seen a lot of them. You used to be real skinny.” 
> 
> Fitz laughs warmly and nods. “Yeah, I really did, huh? Not so much now.” 
> 
> He pats his stomach and Jemma rolls her eyes. “You look great. I’m sure you still eat like a bottomless pit, too.” 
> 
> “Guilty as charged,” he grins. Charlie turns to Maggie, bouncing on his toes. 
> 
> “Blocks were getting boring. Do you wanna go play cooks in the kitchen?” 
> 
> Maggie looks at Fitz nervously for a moment but then excitement lights up her face and she nods, curls bouncing. “Yes, that sounds…that seems fun.” 
> 
> “We should be friends,” Charlie announces loudly as they walk toward the kitchen. 
> 
> “Okay,” Maggie agrees when they reach the little wooden “stove”. “I think we should make pancakes.” 
> 
> “Me too! I love pancakes.” 
> 
> “Looks like he got that from you,” Fitz says, nudging her arm. Jemma looks over to him with a soft smile, still not quite believing he’s here. The teacher finally reaches them, introducing herself as Ms. Daisy Johnson and accepting their packets of paperwork. After some brief orientation, Ms. Johnson shoos the parents out of her classroom and Jemma struggles to hold it together.
> 
> Looking to her right, it seems as though Fitz is doing the same. Steeling herself, she turns to her old best friend and stops him in the parking lot. 
> 
> “I would love to catch up with you, Fitz,” she says as quickly as possible. “Do you want to go to the cafe down on Providence? I’d love to hear what you’ve been up to and to be honest, I could really use a distraction from worrying about Charlie.” 
> 
> Fitz sighs in relief and nods with a crooked smile. “I’d love that. It’s been a long time and if I don’t keep busy, I’ll just be pacing around my apartment until I can go pick up Maggie. I took the day off, just in case.” 
> 
> “Me too,” Jemma laughs. “Shall we walk?” 
> 
> He agrees and they make their way to the cafe, falling into easy conversation. Fitz got married shortly after university, to a woman his mother didn’t like. When she became pregnant, she was initially excited, only to panic once the baby was born. Their relationship became strained and they eventually divorced. She has limited visitation rights to Maggie and rarely seems to want to use them. 
> 
> Jemma tells him her story, about finding out she may not be able to have kids if she waited much longer due to an increase in the severity of her endometriosis while completing her masters degree in the U.S. She was dating Will Daniels at the time, and they’d only been together for a couple of months. On an uncharacteristic impulse, she’d accepted his suggestion that they get married and start a family. They eloped and just a few months later, she was pregnant with Charlie. As the months, and then years, went on, they realized how little they had in common. Will became antsy for adventure, his desire to travel the world tugging at him in a way that no longer appealed to Jemma, whose sole focus remained on Charlie. 
> 
> They split amicably, she explains, and Will stops by whenever he finds himself in the area. Admittedly, these occurrences are rare. 
> 
> Fitz sighs and watches her carefully. “I kind of thought it would be you and me, you know.” 
> 
> She looks up from her tea in surprise. “What?” 
> 
> “Back then,” Fitz shrugs. “I know I was your best friend in the world but…I dunno. To me, you were always more than that.” 
> 
> She bites her lip. “I…I guess I hadn’t thought about it, not until we grew apart. Then I started to think about what could have been different.” 
> 
> He laughs and nods, fiddling with the end of the table nervously. “What are the odds, huh? You and me, kids the same age, in the same kindergarten class?” 
> 
> “In the same small town in Oregon,” Jemma adds. 
> 
> “You look different,” he remarks. She plays with the ends of her short hair self-consciously, but he quickly remedies his statement. “Not bad different. Just…different.” 
> 
> “Yeah,” Jemma agrees. “You too.” 
> 
> “Dinner,” he says after a long beat. She raises her eyebrows, tilting her head to the side in confusion. 
> 
> “That’s a long way off. I don’t think they serve food here, anyhow.” 
> 
> “No, I mean…this weekend, maybe we could…have dinner. Some place nice.” 
> 
> “Oh,” she replies, eyes wide. She hasn’t been on a date since her split from Will over two years ago. “That um…yes. Let’s do that.” 
> 
> He grins at her, a familiar spark lighting up his eyes. “Great.” 
> 
> Then they blow right past the fact that they’re going on a date after all these years, focusing instead on bickering about current events and filling in the gaps of their stories. Before she knows it, it’s nearly 3:00 and time to pick up the children. They walk back to the school together in comfortable silence, both of them holding their breath as they wait for their kids to emerge.
> 
> Charlie and Maggie trickle out together, holding messy drawings and talking over one another in excitement. Fitz and Jemma intercept their respective kids and exchange a smile. 
> 
> “I’ll call you,” he promises. Jemma smiles and nods. 
> 
> “Sounds great, Fitz. See you tomorrow?” 
> 
> He looks confused for a moment before Maggie tugs on him. “When you take me to school, daddy. That’s what she means.” 
> 
> “Ah, right,” he says, scratching behind one ear in a familiar gesture. “See you in the morning.” 
> 
> Charlie practically drags Jemma to the car, regaling her with the tales of his first day of kindergarten. She soaks in every moment of it, but in the quiet moments after they return home, her mind returns to Fitz, her Fitz, and the fact that he’s once again in her life. 
> 
> That night, she pulls out an old photo album and flips idly through pages and pages of snapshots. Nearly two decades of friendship laid out in front of her, begging to be revisited. She traces his young face with her fingers. 
> 
> Dinner can’t come soon enough. 


	135. Teacher/Single Parent AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (By popular request, this one has been added to my To Extend list)

He’s a disaster when he meets her. His shirt is half-untucked, tie loosely knotted with his hair pointing up in all different directions. The little girl on his hip screams and he looks completely unfazed by it. 

“Are you Ms. Simmons?” he asks numbly. Jemma nods. 

“Yes, I am. How can I help you?” 

“I’m Leo Fitz,” he says over the sound of the toddler’s shouting. “I was told you might be able to help me.” 

She smiles kindly, giving him a warm-eyed once over. “With what exactly?” 

If he didn’t look so haggard, she would tease him about the array of things he appears to need help with. The screaming child is the first one, closely followed by his hair, his clothing, and the fact that he’s wearing two different shoes. He clears his throat and sets the toddler down on the floor of Jemma’s classroom. She immediately toddles off toward the corner with all of the books in it. 

“She’s–this is Lily Hunter. She’s my goddaughter and um…well, her parents they uh–they passed, a few weeks ago.” 

Jemma gasps and puts her hand over her chest. “Oh, Mr. Fitz, I’m so sorry.” 

“Just Fitz is fine,” he says a bit gruffly, pinching at the bridge of his nose as a loud crash sounds from the other side of the room. “Lily, please be careful! Don’t make a mess.” 

“No!” Lily shouts back. “I like mess!” 

“Are you…her caregiver now?” 

Fitz nods. “It was…they asked me before they put it in their will. They were both cops, I just never thought anything would actually…ya know? I have to go back to work soon and I heard you’re the best pre-school teacher in town. I know there’s not a lot of spots open at this school but her old one is over an hour from my house and I don’t–I don’t know what to do.” 

His voice cracks on the last few words and Jemma feels a little piece of her heart break. She looks between him and the little toddler in the corner, demolishing the bookshelf with a determined scowl. Lily obviously has not reacted well to the sudden loss of her parents. Her guardian apparently hasn’t, either. 

Jemma Simmons loves rules and regulations, and Shield Academy has a strict application process, spearheaded by the administrator Melinda May. But just this once, Jemma feels an urge to break the rules and explain herself to May later. 

“I’ll take her,” Jemma accepts. “Just drop her off here in the mornings by 8:30. Pick up is at 5:00. If you ever send someone else to get her, we’ll need you to fax a signed note with a photo of the person, authorizing them for pick-up.” 

He slumps down into one of the small chairs designed for tiny toddler bodies, face going completely slack as he stares up at her. “Really? Just…just like that?” 

“Just like that,” she says softly. “I’m so sorry to hear about your friends. Lily will get through this and so will you.” 

“I have no idea how to get her to calm down,” he admits hoarsely. “She was the happiest baby, and a few days ago she seemed to realize that her mum and dad were well and truly gone.” 

Jemma nods in understanding, kneeling down and squeezing his hand. “It’s a difficult adjustment for her. I have a degree in child development and a masters in child psych, so please let me assure you that she _will_ adjust. She’s young and resilient. It’ll take some time but she really will be okay. In the mean time, I can help you help her.” 

He clears his throat, blinking back the tears in his eyes. “I–I don’t know what to say.” 

She smiles again, having the fleeting inappropriate thought that Leo Fitz has very nice hands as she gives them once last squeeze. “You don’t have to say anything. May I ask who told you I could help?” 

“Uh, Daisy? Daisy Johnson?” 

Jemma resists the urge to roll her eyes because of course it was Daisy and of course this is Leo Fitz. “This is going to sound…horribly inappropriate.” 

His eyebrows shoot up. “Huh?” 

“It’s just…before all of this happened to you, she wanted to set us up,” Jemma explains delicately, cheeks flushing. “She mentioned you a few months ago, but I was just coming out of a break-up and now…” 

“And now I’m a dad,” he says dully, nodding toward Lily. “And my friends are dead.” 

“I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable,” she cringes. “I just…wanted there to be full disclosure before I give you my phone number and tell you to call me any time. Not for…not for a date or anything but for any help you might need. I have some book suggestions and–” 

“Thank you,” he interrupts. “And don’t worry about it. I’m not uncomfortable just…y’know. Adjusting. That this is my life now.” 

Jemma hands him a piece of pink construction paper with her name and number scrawled across it. “Text me when you get here tomorrow and I’ll meet you at the entrance. There’s technically a waiting list for my class, so I’m going to have to pull some strings.” 

His brow furrows in concern. “I don’t want to get you into any trouble.” 

She brushes his worries off. “No, no. I’ll handle Melinda, it won’t be an issue. I’m happy to do it.” 

He sighs heavily and stands with a groan, knees popping. She winces at the obvious toll that sudden fatherhood has apparently taken on him. 

“Come on, Lily. We’ve got to go home now.” 

Lily turns and runs at him, barreling into his legs. “Mum and Daddy?” 

His entire face crumbles and Jemma blinks back tears as Fitz leans down and picks her up. “Not today, sweetheart. Say goodbye to Ms. Simmons.” 

“Ms. Jemma,” she corrects. That’s what the kids call her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lily. We’ll have loads of fun.” 

Fitz nods at her gratefully, pink construction paper sticking out of his pocket as he leaves. She feels a small twinge of frustration, wishing she hadn’t turned down Daisy’s offer two months ago. Then she squashes it with a wave of guilt. This man’s world has been turned upside down and she’s staring at his ass as he leaves. 

It’s certainly not a date, but she looks forward to seeing him and Lily the next morning and for many mornings after. She doesn’t know it, but she’s the first glimmer of hope he’s had since the police showed up at his door, holding Lily in their arms.


	136. Wrong Door (College AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based loosely on my first morning of freshman year

“Come on, please open up,” Jemma whines as she slaps the door. It’s 7:30 a.m. on her first day of college, and she’s going to be late to her first class because she locked herself out of her dorm room. Naked, wrapped only in a towel. 

The door swings open and instead of her heavy-sleeping roommate Skye Johnson, a bedraggled boy opens the door, blinking at her blearily. 

“Oh,” she breathes, her entire body flushing. “Oh I’m so sorry, I…I think I’m at the wrong room, somehow.” 

His eyes open wide as he realizes her state of undress and he quickly looks away. “Uh, no–no problem.” 

His voice cracks with disuse and his eyes wander back up her legs on their own accord. She heats up even more in mortification. 

“I can’t believe I forgot my own room number,” she whimpers. And then she bursts into tears. The boy opens and closes his mouth, completely uncertain of what to do. He awkwardly reaches out and pats her on the shoulder. 

“Ah, no. Don’t…don’t do that. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure out where you live.” 

“I have class in thirty minutes,” she sobs. She reaches up to wipe her tears, making her towel slip even further down. He grabs it on instinct, holding it back up and screwing his eyes shut. She laughs in embarrassment. “Oh, I’m so sorry about all of this.” 

“Nah it’s fine,” he shrugs, promptly yawning afterward. He grabs his keys off of the hook near his door and shuffles into the hallway. “You can’t be far from your room. We’re at least on the right floor.” 

The door shuts behind him and she scoffs, pointing at the little construction paper signs on his door, reading Lance and Leo. 

“Our names are on the doors,” she says in shock. 

“Well that certainly helps,” he jokes. “What name are we looking for?” 

“Jemma,” she replies, still hiccuping slightly from her crying fit. “Are you the Lance or the Leo?” 

“The Fitz, actually,” he jokes, peering at each door that they pass. “First name is Leo, but I go by Fitz.” 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Fitz,” she says. “It might have been nicer if I was…y’know, not naked, but…” 

“I’m perfectly fine with the nudity,” he shrugs. “I mean…” 

Then he pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “It’s too early and you’re really pretty and naked and let’s just find your room, yeah?” 

She snorts gracelessly and clutches her towel tighter. “Well…thank you?” 

He knocks his knuckles against a door to his left. “Found it. Jemma and Skye, room 604.” 

“And you are?” 

“614,” he says with a smirk. “You were close.” 

He knocks loudly on the door until her roommate opens it. “I think this is yours.”

Her roommate takes in the sight of Jemma and immediately begins giggling despite the early hour. He turns to leave and Jemma stops him. 

“Thank you again, Fitz, and I’m so sorry for waking you.” 

He shrugs and gives her an awkward wave. “No problem.” 

That afternoon, Jemma walks into her second class of college feeling slightly more confident then she had that morning, determined to start off on the right foot. Halfway through the professor reading the syllabus to them, someone slips in through the side door and collapses into the desk next to her. She glances over and finds a vaguely sweaty, out-of-breath Leo Fitz. His jaw drops when he meets her eyes. 

“Hi,” she whispers. She scoots her chair closer to him and proffers her syllabus. “Wanna share?” 

He smiles gratefully. She’s glad to see she’s not the only one starting out her freshman year as a walking disaster.


	137. Vietnam War AU

> The sound of the chopper nearly drowns him out, but Jemma leans close enough to hear him. She’s surprised to hear a Scottish accent rasp out of the approximately 22 year old soldier lying on the floor of the helicopter. She’s covered in his blood and if she’s perfectly honest, she really didn’t think he would make it. 
> 
> “Heaven is shite,” he curses. “Even the angels are covered in blood.” 
> 
> “Private Fitz,” she says loudly. “I’m Jemma Simmons with the Army Nursing Corps. You’ve been severely injured. Do you know where you are?” 
> 
> “I’m dead,” he breathes. “I’m dead and the angels are covered in blood and _English_.” 
> 
> “Private Fitz,” she tries once more, keeping her voice as stern as possible. “You’re alive. I’m Jemma Simmons with the Army Nursing Corps. Do you know where you are?” 
> 
> The morphine she’d injected him with makes his eyes glassy and he blinks at her slowly. “Vietnam.” 
> 
> “Yes, right,” she says, relieved. “We’re almost to the military hospital now. You were hit in Saigon. I was able to save your arm, but barely. It looks like you’ll have to go home.” 
> 
> His face screws up in a confusing combination of relief and grief. “My squad. Are they…?” 
> 
> Jemma bites her lip as the helicopter begins to descend. “Sergeant Coulson made it out but lost his hand. Private Campbell–” 
> 
> Her voice cracks. She’d had no idea when she landed in the field today that her lab partner, her fellow medical student who had been drafted, was in the unit she was sent to rescue. Lincoln Campbell’s draft number had been pulled while they sat in the Medical School Student Lounge. He was one of the few men in the program who respected her and they’d become fast friends. He could have waived his draft–being in medical school would have exempted him–but he told her if he didn’t go, someone else would have to go in his place and he couldn’t live with that. 
> 
> Despite her moral qualms with the war, she couldn’t stand the thought of the only person who looked out for her being forced against his will into war. The soldiers on the ground weren’t at fault; the politicians were. While Lincoln’s girlfriend Daisy Johnson opted for protest in the streets, Jemma signed up for the Army Nurse Corps. 
> 
> “Private Campbell was badly injured but he should make it. The rest of your squad–the rest of your squad didn’t make it out.” 
> 
> “I can’t go home,” he croaks. “I can’t go home!” 
> 
> “Private Fitz, please stay calm. I know you’re in an incredible amount of pain–” 
> 
> He reaches up and grabs her gloved hand. His palms are covered in blood and she wonders if he remembers that he was laying on top of one of his fellow soldiers, trying to stop him from bleeding out even as he himself rapidly approached death. 
> 
> “I can’t go back,” he whimpers. “I can’t go back home, I’m not–I can’t–I can’t just stop fighting.” 
> 
> She snaps off her gloves and breaks protocol for the very first time, moving to cradle his filthy head in her lap. “You can and you will. You’ll be in Saigon for a while, Private Fitz, and then you’ll be sent home. This will all be over.” 
> 
> He screws his eyes shut and tears spill down her cheeks. She doesn’t let go of him until the medics rush to the chopper and remove his gurney. For some inexplicable reason, she refuses all field missions until he’s transferred home, finding every excuse to stay by his side. 
> 
> *** 

> _Dear Jemma,_
> 
> _Adjusting back to civilian life is even harder than I thought it would be. Writing to you helps. I hope you made it back from Ho Chi Minh City. I saw footage of a nurse dropping out of a helicopter on the news. I worried about you._
> 
> _I know nurses don’t wear dog tags so I had this locket engraved for you with your name and information. I read something the other day that made me think of what you said about the first law of thermodynamics. I clipped out the article for you. I hope you like it._
> 
> _I met up with your friend Daisy. We’re both upset that Lincoln didn’t get sent home after everything. I’m helping her organize a protest._
> 
> _Be careful, Jemma._
> 
> _Always,  
>  Fitz _
> 
> _***_
> 
> _Dear Fitz,_
> 
> _I’m glad to hear that you and Daisy are getting along. The locket is beautiful. In case the worst happens, I’m glad to be identifiable. I know you won’t think that’s funny, but try to. It’s hard to find anything funny, these days._
> 
> _That article is amazing! I would love to get into a lab like that. It was hard enough to get into medical school and even harder to be taken seriously there. I’ll be lucky if Georgetown takes me back after this “leave of absence.”_
> 
> _Lincoln is being moved to a different squadron and it looks as though I’m going to be permanently moved as a mobile field medic. I’m scared, Fitz. This isn’t what I signed up for. I want to come home._
> 
> _Love,  
>  Jemma _
> 
> _***_
> 
> _Dear Jemma,_
> 
> _I never thought I could miss the time I spent at the hospital in Saigon. I don’t know what to talk about with anyone else. No one gets what I’ve seen. But more than that, no one keeps me on my toes like you. I lost all of my friend and you pieced me back together by treating me like a human being._
> 
> _I got my citizenship and then got sent off to fight a war I didn’t believe in. The things I saw and the things I had to do–I’ll never forget it and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself, but I think maybe I can start to, because of you._
> 
> _When you come home, I’ll help you do the same. So just come home._
> 
> _Always,  
>  Fitz _
> 
> _***_
> 
> _Dear Fitz,_
> 
> _I’m being moved to a confidential location. Most of this letter may be retracted if I say any more. If I make it home, I think we should go to dinner, some place nice. I think you might be my best friend in the world. I think maybe it’s more than that._
> 
> _Love,  
>  Jemma_
> 
> _***_
> 
> He waits for her with his bad hand–the hand he would have lost without her–trembling. He straightens up as he watches gaggles of nurses deplaning, reuniting with their families and loved ones. 
> 
> She finally appears, ghosts in her brown eyes that weren’t there last time he saw her. She drops her suitcase and runs at him, still dressed in a nurse’s uniform. He catches her when she launches into his arms, throwing her arms around him as her feet leave the ground. Her suitcase lays abandoned several yards behind her and he feels her take in a shaking breath against his neck. 
> 
> “Oh, you’re real,” she breathes against him. It sends a shiver down his spine and it occurs to him, powerfully, that he fell in love with Jemma Simmons in that Army helicopter. “You’re real.” 
> 
> “I am,” he murmurs into her hair. “So are you.” 
> 
> She pulls back with teary eyes and runs a hand over his stubbly cheeks. “Oh, look at you. Look how handsome you are.” 
> 
> He flushes immediately under her affections. “And you’re as…as pretty as you ever were.” 
> 
> She rolls her eyes and smooths out her uniform. “Ugh, Fitz. I’ve been on a plane for ages.” 
> 
> “You were covered in blood and dirt and I still thought you were an angel,” he reminds her with a little smirk. “Daisy and Lincoln wanted to have dinner with us tonight but I thought…I thought it might be better if we just did something for the two of us.” 
> 
> She looks relieved, nodding eagerly. “Yes. That would be lovely, Fitz. Thank you.” 
> 
> He smiles, palms sweating nervously as he wipes them on his jeans. He doesn’t wear any of his uniforms anymore, not even the standard-issue Army shirts or his dress blues. He never wanted them in the first place and he certainly doesn’t want them now. 
> 
> It seems Jemma feels the same way. “I’d love to change, if you don’t mind.” 
> 
> “Of course,” he says immediately. “I don’t live very far from here, if you’d like to wash up. We have a reservation at 6:00 but we’ve got time.” 
> 
> She smiles gratefully and follows him to his car, an older Chevy that he bought with the money he’d been making at an auto repair shop since returning from the war. His place is small, a fairly crowded studio near Georgetown. It was a move he didn’t recognize as purposeful at the time, but when Jemma makes a sly note of it, he sees it for what it truly was; a way to be close to her. 
> 
> She doesn’t have many things any more and her apartment near Georgetown’s campus has long been rented to someone else. Fitz sets up the couch for himself to sleep on so that Jemma can sleep in his bed while she tries to find a new place and gain her bearings. 
> 
> He’s lost in thought as he obsessively tidies, and she emerges from the bathroom looking refreshed but still exhausted, in a pretty sky blue shift dress. 
> 
> “You look beautiful,” he tells her softly, wrapping his hand in hers. The lights and sounds of the city seem to startle her. She jumps at every turn, muscles tenses under his finger tips during the entire walk to the restaurant. 
> 
> When they enter, it is completely empty. Jemma stares in confusion. 
> 
> “Is it closed?” 
> 
> He shakes his head as the manager approaches. “I thought it might be nice for you to not have any distractions. When I first came back, all the noises and the lights…it was too much for me. I figured it would be the same for you, so…” 
> 
> “I don’t know how to thank you,” she whispers as he pulls out her chair and she slides into it gracefully. 
> 
> “You don’t have to,” he shrugs, leaning forward. “Things are going to be different for you now, Jemma.” 
> 
> She flinches slightly at his candor but still reaches to place her hand over his on the table. He turns his hand over to squeeze her palm. 
> 
> “You’re just different now, and there’s nothing wrong with that,” he tells her sincerely. The waiter pours them wine–white, rather than red, since he’d had a breakdown the first time he’d seen the red liquid. Too much like blood. Whiskey had been another one. The preferred drink among his fellow soldiers and the particular alcohol that Jemma herself had given him just before she’d gotten ahold of her morphine in the field. 
> 
> “Does it get easier?” she asks, looking around and avoiding his gaze. “I can’t sleep, you know. I can’t…I can’t breathe, sometimes.” 
> 
> He nods empathetically, but chooses to be candid. “It doesn’t get easier,” he admits. “But it does change. It does…you do adapt, the same way you adapted to being out there.” 
> 
> “I want to work with refugees,” Jemma blurts out. “I want…those people, they didn’t deserve what happened to them. No one came out a winner.” 
> 
> “The idea of winning any war has never made sense to me,” Fitz agrees. “But especially this one. You told me in that chopper that I would be sent home and it would all be over, but it wasn’t.” 
> 
> She meets his eyes, guilt swimming in the depths of her gaze. “I had no idea. I’d only been there for two weeks.” 
> 
> “Hey,” he says gently. “I’m not saying you weren’t right. I got to go home. It is over. I threw myself into protesting and organizing. I talked to Congress, I did what I could to try to remedy the things I had to do. To honor the men who died that day when I lived. You saved lives out there, Jemma, but you couldn’t save everyone. No one can.” 
> 
> “I don’t believe in God,” she blurts out. “I’m not sure where I’m supposed to believe suffering comes from. In the Bible, it’s the closing of the gates of the Garden of Eden. So where does this suffering come from? Why does it ache so badly?” 
> 
> Fitz crinkles his brow in thought, a familiar expression that she’d nearly forgotten in the months of their separation. “I don’t think it comes from anywhere. I think it comes from us, from all of us. But so does healing. My hands were on the trigger but your hands…your hands healed.” 
> 
> “I can’t do this without you,” she says. “I don’t think I’m strong enough.” 
> 
> “That’s not true. You are,” he tells her. She looks panicked for a moment and he rushes to finish. “But we’re gonna fix this. Together. I promise, Jemma, I will be beside you the whole damn time. The same way you were there for me in Saigon.” 
> 
> The waiter comes to take their order and when he leaves, Jemma shifts the conversation to discuss happier subjects, asking questions about Fitz’s new civilian life. When they get back to his apartment later that night, she silently tugs the blankets of his bed down, nodding invitingly at the empty space. 
> 
> “Are you sure?” 
> 
> “Please,” she says. “Stay with me.” 
> 
> He nods solemnly and slips in beside her, incredibly conscious of his body and where he places his hands when she curls into him. She hardly sleeps and he stays awake with her as the dawn light fills his apartment. She rolls over to face it and he sits up on an elbow behind her, his other arm sprawled over her stomach and his chin resting on her shoulder. 
> 
> “I meant what I said in that letter,” she tells him softly. “That you’re my best friend in the world, but you’re more than that.” 
> 
> “You were in a war zone.” 
> 
> “I was as clear-headed then as I’ve ever been,” Jemma tells him firmly, despite the low volume of her voice. “So what do you think we should do about it?” 
> 
> She has healing to do and so does he. He tried to see a shrink but that didn’t pan out–apparently all soldiers feel this way. He’s not special. He’s not different. The trauma that seems to have altered the way he thinks in every sense is commonplace, according to his doctor, but it still sneaks up on him when he least expects it. She’s just getting started on the long journey home. 
> 
> “For now, let’s just watch the sunrise.” 
> 
> He presses a kiss to her shoulder and she hums in contentment. They watch the sun rise. They examine each other’s pieces in the dusky light, puzzling through the proper arrangement of them. They’re both just a poorly put together approximation of two souls, but her pieces match his. He feels a surge of hope for the first time in forever, reflected in the deep brown of her eyes. 


	138. Wedding Misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: FitzSimmons + Two Miserable People At A Wedding

Jemma sighs, leaning heavily against the bar and rolling her neck forward. 

“Having a good night then?” a voice asks wryly. She snaps her gaze up, hair flicking back as she meets the bartender’s eyes. He smiles at her wryly and she manages a small one in return. 

“I’m the next youngest, after Lance. So of course everyone is asking me when I’ll finally hook a man, as if everything else I’ve accomplished in life isn’t enough to earn me any sort of praise,” she huffs. She catches her over-share and freezes. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s been…quite a day.” 

He grimaces sympathetically. “What can I get you?” 

“A gin and tonic will do, thanks,” she orders. She watches him carefully as he pours the simple drink. “You look about as happy as I am to be here.” 

“Ah, well,” he shrugs, sliding the glass over to her. “I wasn’t supposed to be working tonight, but I had to cover for someone. I worked one of these last night and it went till nearly 4 in the morning. Just a bit tired, I guess.” 

“I hope you at least slept all day.” 

He shakes his head. “I had to be up at 8 to teach, so–” 

“You teach?” she gasps, slapping an abrupt hand on the bar. “ _I_ teach!” 

He raises his eyebrows, leaning forward on the bar in a way that she finds altogether too appealing. She forces her gaze back to his face. “Where do you teach?” 

“I’m at Harvard,” she says, and she can’t help but say it like a challenge because nine out of every ten men she meets immediately back away from her. He smirks and tilts his head to the side. 

“MIT,” he throws back. “Y’know, where the smart folks go.” 

She glares at him teasingly. “If by smart you mean the anti-social nerds–” 

“Says a woman who can’t be more than 25 who teaches at Harvard,” he retorts. She grins back at him and shakes her head.

“I’m 27, actually.” 

He licks his lips with a short little shake of his head and a disbelieving laugh. “You’ll never believe this, but…so am I.” 

She leans against the counter and watches her cousin Lance sweep his bride into a begrudging dance. Bobbi reaches out for one of her bridesmaids, Daisy, rather desperately, but her friend just laughs and dodges her hand. 

“This is one of the better groups,” he notes, following her gaze to her friends. “I work a lot of weddings.” 

“MIT doesn’t pay well, then?” she can’t help but tease. “Because Harvard has a great benefits package, you know.” 

He laughs warmly, impulsively pouring himself a drink. It’s a rarity that he actually imbibes while working. “I’m a PhD candidate. I take money wherever I can get it.” 

“I’ve just finished mine,” she tells him excitedly. “Oh, you’ll feel so much better when it’s over.” 

“I should hope so,” he snorts. “It can hardly get any worse than this, can it?” 

“Jemma! It’s time for the bouquet!” one of her particularly nosy aunts shout. “You could use all the help you can get, dear.” 

She rolls her eyes in the bartenders direction and begins to walk away. 

“Hey, Jemma!” he calls out. She spins around, confused how he knows her name. “Your aunt, she just said it.” 

She crinkles her nose, half-embarrassed and half-surprised that a total stranger followed her thought process so easily.

“What’s your last name?” 

“Simmons. I’m Jemma Simmons.” 

“Dr. Jemma Simmons,” he ponders aloud. She likes the way it sounds in his mouth. 

“And you are?” 

“Leo Fitz.” 

“Dr. Leo Fitz,” she repeats. “I like it.” 

“Not quite Dr. Fitz, but if you’re ever looking for me…it’s just Fitz, really. I just go by Fitz.” 

She raises her eyebrows and shoots him a teasing grin. “Oh, and why would I be looking for you?” 

“For all of your drink making and non-lethal weaponry needs, of course,” he fires back, unfazed. He lifts his drink to his lips and she forces herself to look away. 

“Ah yes, of course,” she practically breathes. She grimaces at her own desperation and throws a thumb over her shoulder. “Well, I’ve got flowers to dodge.” 

He gives her a little salute and she dashes off to join the other bridesmaids and guests. Daisy immediately grabs her arm and glances surreptitiously over at the bar. 

“Getting thirsty over at the bar, I see,” Daisy jokes. Jemma smacks her arm but can’t resist the urge to look back at him. 

Alright, so it’s not the _worst_ wedding she’s ever been to. 


	139. Fluffer (New Girl AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snippet from a full-length New Girl AU to come.

“And I’m not your fluffer!“ Fitz shrieks as Jemma sits on the floor, surrounded by bits and pieces of an Ikea dresser. 

“What?” she gasps, staring up at him in confusion. “Fitz, what does that even mean? 

“Like in porn,” he blabbers. Her face grows even more confused. “The fluffer is the person who keeps the actor–” 

He makes some vaguely rude gestures that have her coloring immediately. 

“–motivated!” 

“Ew!” Jemma says indignantly, scrambling to her feet and squaring up with her hands on her hips. “That’s a _job_?” 

“And that’s what I am! I’m your emotional fluffer. You need some tea? I’ll make it. You can’t find your phone? I’ll call it,” Fitz huffs angrily, running a hand over his head. 

“Because you’re my friend, that’s what friends do!” Jemma argues back. She’d known, moving into a loft with three men, that at some point something like this was bound to come up. But she’d never really expected it with _Fitz_. They’d become close fairly instantly, despite his annoyances with her sunny disposition and her frustrations at his absolute lack of any kind of life plan. 

Living together and being best friends has always just worked for them, and she feels a small surge of panic at the thought that maybe it hasn’t been working as well as she’s thought. 

“I’m your boyfriend without the rewards,” he mutters, a bit defeated. She can’t help the flare of anger at him, though. 

“Oh, really? That’s what you think?” she spits. Then she thinks about what he’s just said, blinking owlishly and stepping back a bit. “Wait does that mean…do you want the rewards?” 

“What? No. No, no. NO. With you? No. Blegh,” Fitz blabbers on, screwing up his face and making an exaggerated wretching sound. She furrows her brow petulantly and resists the urge to stomp.

“Don’t do that. Don’t say ‘blegh’, like you haven’t thought about it,” Jemma argues. 

“Thought about it? Me? Nope,” Fitz asserts, holding his hands up.

“Not even once?” Jemma presses. “Really, Fitz? Not even once?” 

“Hey, Sleeping Fitz is a _totally_ different person than Awake Fitz,” he defends. “But Awake Fitz has never thought about it.” 

“Oh come on,” Jemma snaps back. “I know you thought about it the other day when you walked in on me doing deep lunges.” 

“Oh, right,” Fitz scoffs. “Because my google search history is full of _women doing deep lunges_.” 

“Man up and admit it!” Jemma insists, stepping forward into his space. “I can admit it, I’ve thought about it.” 

This seems to give him pause and he freezes. “Wait…really? Us?” 

“Once,” she admits with a would-be casual shrug. “One time.” 

“When was this?” 

“Last year,” she answers. “You were at the bar, making the food talk to each other and it was–it was–” 

“Really?” he asks sardonically. “That does it for you? Seriously?” 

“Okay yes, I thought about it for five minutes and then I realized it would never work between us!” 

“Oh, and why’s that?” he challenges. They’re so close together now that Jemma can feel his body heat coming through his t-shirt, but she throws her hands up in frustration anyway. 

“Because you drive me _crazy_! You’re always sighing, like you’re the bloody President trying to decide if we’re going to war.” 

“I’m always sighing because you sing about everything!” he growls. He takes on an obnoxious falsetto. “And I haaate iiiiiit.” 

“Ugh!” she groans, giving in to her urge to stomp. “You hate everything, and I could _never_ live with that. I can barely live with it now!” 

A brief flash of hurt settles over his face and she nearly flinches. “Fine. But you need me to have sex.” 

She grits her jaw. Sure, she’s bad at this casual-fling thing that she’s been trying out, and maybe she has been using Fitz as a pseudo-boyfriend to fulfill her emotional needs. Still, she won’t give in that easily. 

“Fine. Then I’ll call Will!” 

She looks around for her phone, cheeks heating up as she realizes that she can’t seem to find it. 

“What’s the problem, Jemma? Can’t find your phone?” he challenges, leaning against the door. 

“No! I can find it,” she insists. “I’m fine. I can do this.” 

He whirls around and goes across the hallway to his own room, slamming the door. Her phone starts ringing, somewhere in the pile of Ikea bits and pieces. She hears his voice call to her across the way. 

“I didn’t mean to do that! It was a pocket dial!” 

Despite their spat, she can’t help but smile as she picks up her phone. 


	140. Masquerade Ball AU

He gravitates toward her immediately, because she looks like she’s been sitting in the corner for a long time and he knows a hell of a lot about sitting in the corner at a party. She’s in a midnight blue dress with a silver mask tied around her eyes, and there’s something decidedly familiar about her. 

This is a charity benefit, but somehow it feels a lot more like a college party. People who make more in a day than his mother does in a year shriek and stumble around in thousand-dollar-gowns and masks covered in Swarovski crystals. 

He’s here with his co-workers. Their boss purchased a table and then strong-armed them all into attending. He’d complained and griped the entire time that Bobbi had used him like a human Ken Doll, and he still feels like an idiot in a tux and a blue mask. 

“You look about as happy as I feel,” he comments when he approaches the woman in the corner. She looks up, startled, and immediately looks away. 

“Oh, well,” she says awkwardly. “Sometimes these things don’t work out.” 

He frowns, grabbing the nearest chair and spinning it around. He straddles it, leaning his arms on the back of the chair and studying her half-revealed face carefully. 

“What things?” 

She laughs bitterly and gestures with a gloved hand over toward the bar, where a tall bearded man leans into a dark-haired woman. Fitz doesn’t know either of them, but he’s been friends with Hunter long enough to know that their respective body language means they’re both getting lucky. 

“I came with that guy,” she tells him quietly. “Ridiculous, honestly. I don’t know why I even thought…I mean, I should have known better. That’s all.” 

“Hey,” he argues, nudging her foot with his. “I’m sure that’s not true. If it makes you feel better…you were the first thing my eyes were drawn to when I walked in this room.” 

She flushes pink and chances another glance in his direction. “You’re bold.” 

He laughs and shakes his head. “I think that’s a combination of the open bar and the fact that I’m wearing a mask.” 

She giggles and impulsively leans forward to snatch the flute of champagne out of his hands, taking a long sip. “I’ve been hiding out over here for so long trying to avoid him, I’ve hardly had a chance to partake.” 

Fitz frowns at that, springing to his feet. “Well, that has to be fixed.” 

Before she can anything, he heads over to the bar and rudely elbows his way between her date and her date’s new object of attraction. He orders two glasses of champagne and brings them back over to her, placing them on the table beside her. 

“Thank you,” she says gratefully, happily picking one up and holding it out to him. “Cheers?” 

“Cheers,” he replies, clinking his glass with hers. They both drink and he can’t help but laugh. “This champagne is probably more expensive than an entire day’s work for me.” 

She laughs and sinks into her seat. “Oh, me too. I never go to events like this. I finally hid out over here because I couldn’t stand to have one more conversation about return on investments and diversifying portfolios.” 

Fitz leans in close, smirking. “To be completely honest, I’m still not quite sure what a portfolio is. Do all of these fancy rich men have a little folder full of their childhood sketches?” 

She snorts gracelessly, immediately covering her face in embarrassment. His smile just widens. 

“You’re cute,” he blurts out. He can’t believe he’s speaking this candidly to a woman this beautiful, but he hadn’t been lying. The party and the mask and the fact that he’ll probably never see her again gives him confidence that he’s never had before. 

She finally looks him square in the eyes, for the very first time, and he feels thrown off-balance by the depths of her gaze. The corners of her lips quirk up in a little smile and she reaches forward, downing her entire flute as he watches her with raised eyebrows. 

“I have an idea. My friend Skye has been encouraging me to engage in…well, some more bad girl shenanigans, I suppose.” 

“Am I a bad girl shenanigan?” he asks, half-amused and admittedly half-aroused. 

“Something like that,” she winks. Then she snatches an entire bottle of champagne out of the bar’s ice bucket and dashes out into the hall of the hotel hosting the gala. He widens his eyes, looks around for anyone who may have seen her, and darts out into the hall in pursuit. 

Later that night, sitting on the roof of one of the fanciest hotels in New York and passing an incredibly expensive bottle of champagne back and forth with a beautiful woman, Leo Fitz sits back and can’t help but wonder how this is life. 

That question rings in his brain when she sets aside the bottle and scoots closer to him, tentatively playing with the corners of his mask. 

“Is this okay?” she asks quietly. He sucks in a sharp breath and nods, letting her remove it. He nearly closes her eyes, afraid of any disappointment she might express, but he keeps them wide open. She beams, brushing a finger over the scruff of his cheek. “Much better. I like it.” 

He chuckles and returns the favor, deftly untying the ribbon from the back of her hair. The mask falls forward into his waiting palm and she smiles at him nervously. 

“Well?” she asks.

He surges forward and kisses her. She tastes like pricey alcohol and smog, sweetness with a sting. His whole world goes sideways when she presses back into him. 

“Jemma,” she murmurs against his lips when she pulls away. “My name is Jemma.” 

“Nice to meet you, Jemma,” he whispers, brushing a hand through an errant curl. “I’m Fitz.” 


	141. Love Language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Fitz has a particularly bad day with his bad hand and Jemma offers to help him shave; emotional intimacy.” A canon-divergent S2 ficlet, in which Jemma never got sucked into the rock and went on that date with Fitz.

“Fitz?” she calls, entering his room with an additional little knock. In the weeks since their first date, the boundaries between them had slowly begun to crumble to almost nothing. When he hadn’t answered her first raps on his door, she’d decided just to slip inside. 

She hears a low curse coming from his small en suite bathroom. He clears his throat loudly, but when he speaks his voice trembles slightly. She immediately feels a bolt of worry shoot through her. 

“Hey, Jemma. I’ll be…uh, I’ll be late in the lab today.” 

“Is everything alright?” she asks tentatively. While most of their boundaries have dissolved, there are still these moments; these moments where she isn’t sure how hard she should press and how. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he rushes to say. A loud bang resounds in the bathroom and she flinches, hands flying to the back of her neck. 

“Fitz? Are you sure?” 

She swallows down her fear that he’s going to run from her insistent pressing and continues on. 

“Because if something’s wrong, I can…I’d like to help you. Please.” 

Even through the door, she can hear his rattling breath. In the thick silence she can practically hear him internally at war with himself. “Come in.”

She takes a deep breath and slowly opens the door to the bathroom, unsure of what she’ll be walking in on or how close he may be standing to it. She finds him at the far end of the counter, hands gripping the counter with white knuckles. Shaving cream covers his cheeks and jawline, a broad streak of red disturbing the pure color on one side. 

“Oh, Fitz,” she sighs quietly. His left hand is shaking so violently, it practically vibrates against the countertop. He looks up at her through the mirror, but only for a brief moment. It’s just long enough for her to catch the shame in his blue eyes and she swallows down the tightness in her throat. This moment is not about her. This moment is about him, and she’s going to fix this. 

“I’m…it’s, a…uh, it’s a…a…” 

Jemma waits patiently, watching as his forearms flex with the power of his grip on the sink’s edge. She carefully speaks. “Bad day?” 

He nods roughly, staring intently at the discarded razor between his hands. Jemma approaches him, gently slipping one hand over his left one. The trembling only increases, and she rubs her thumb softly over his knuckles as she pries his fingers off of the counter. 

“Fitz,” she tells him quietly, imploring him to look at her. He finally looks at her, again through the mirror rather than turning to face her. She wonders if it makes him feel safer. 

She raises his hand to her lips, peppering each knuckle and finger with butterfly soft kisses. He releases a shaky gasp and she steps closer, snatching the razor with her other hand. 

“Let me,” she offers, voice a near whisper. 

“Can you even–” he starts. She shoots him an unimpressed look.

“Who do you think kept you clean-shaven for those nine days, Fitz?” she asks, no bite to her words. He grimaces regardless.

“Yeah, right. Sorry.” 

“No need to apologize,” she assures him with a light shrug. She pats the counter he had been gripping. “Now sit.” 

He hops up onto it clumsily and she laughs, glad to finally be face-to-face with him. Their eyes are perfectly level and she manages a little grin as they make eye contact. 

She runs the water, dampening the metal of the razor. “You must really trust me.” 

“Of course I do,” he says immediately. “You’re, uh…you’re my best friend, Jemma. You know that.” 

“And you’re more than that,” she can’t help but tease. He rolls his eyes. 

“Alright, Sweeney Todd. Can we…let’s get this over with. Those containment modules won’t design themselves.” 

She laughs and gets started, hands steadier than they’ve ever been as she runs the razor up the side of his face. She looks up, licking her lips uncertainly and checking that she’s done a fair job. He smiles at her softly, that little look in his eyes that Skye–Daisy, damn it–keeps referring to as his “heart eyes.” 

“You’re doing fine,” he says softly. “You might wanna keep your eyes on the job, though.” 

“Yes, well, it’s hard when you look at me like that,” she says, cheeks heating up as she focuses on the task at hand. After a few weeks of dating, she’s still adjusting to flirting with Fitz, her Fitz, on purpose. She’d done loads of research before their date. While he was looking up restaurants, she’d learned all about the five love languages, romantic communication, and body language. Ever since, she’d been piecing together the ways that Fitz interpreted love, seeking to emulate it to make it clear to him that she felt the same way that he did. 

That included a lot of trial and error. Today, she’d opted for making an attempt at words of affirmation. He smiles immediately, which she immediately takes a mental note of as she nearly nicks him. She gently bats at one of his legs. 

“Fitz!” she admonishes. “Stay still, would you?” 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t sound sorry. She finishes carefully, their breath mingling lightly in the tiny space between them. When she finally finishes, gently cleaning up the little cut he’d given himself before her arrival, she sees that look again. 

His eyes reflect some combination of awe and gratitude, a staggering amount of soft affection practically pouring out of him. She hopes that she looks at him like this; she hopes he can see it on her face the way that she sees it in his. They’ve never been good with words, but she decides to try. 

“I’m always here to help you,” she says. His eyes briefly widen and she grabs his hands again, worried that he’ll try to bolt away. “I know I–I haven’t always been. But I’m here now, and I’m not leaving. Not for anything.” 

He studies her, brow furrowed as he tries to puzzle her out. Whatever he finds must satisfy him, because he nods decidedly and leans forward just far enough to place a kiss on her forehead. 

“I know you are,” he assures her, and for once, he sounds like he actually believes himself. It’s a start, and Jemma is willing to accept it for the great success that it truly is. 

She wraps her right hand around his left, tugging him off of the counter gently. He lands beside her and she leads the way out to the lab. He’s right, the new modules won’t design themselves. Besides, the only thing she loves more than these new quiet moments is the slow and steady rediscovery of what it means to work side by side once again.


	142. Video Wars

It’s not her proudest moment, but Jemma hasn’t been able to stop thinking about watching Beetlejuice on VHS all week. It hasn’t been the best of weeks, either. First, she’d been turned down for a promotion at work. Then, she’d been stood up for a blind date. Just when she thought things couldn’t possibly get worse, a pipe had burst in her kitchen and flooded the entire thing. 

Feeling uncharacteristically impulsive, Jemma pulls out her laptop, stepping over the plastic all over the floor, and googles “video stores near me.” 

Unfortunately for her, most of the video stores near her do not stock the kind of videos she’s searching for. After sifting through a few entries for charming shops such as “Girls Girls Girls”, “Live Adult Video”, “Pussycat Palace”, and several other unmentionables, Jemma throws her hands up and shifts her terms to be more precise.

Finally, she finds an old school video rental shop. It’s two hours away, but it’s 3 p.m. on a Saturday and she’s sure that traffic won’t even be that bad. Her friends are all busy and all she wants to do is drown her sorrows with a bottle of Pinot Noir, some ice cream, and Michael Keeton in makeup. Determined, she grabs her keys off of the hook and begins the drive.

It unwinds her, which is nice, but halfway there it begins to occur to her just how long two hours in a car really is. She’s sifted through the newest episodes of all of her favorite podcasts by the time she pulls up to Furious Video Rentals and she can’t help but wonder what the hell she’s gonna do on her way back.

She enters the shop and greets the friendly shopkeeper she spoke to over the phone when she checked if it was really open. He’s middle-aged and slightly balding, a gorgeous and unenthused Asian woman sitting up on the counter behind him looking incredibly bored. 

“Can you point me toward Beetlejuice?” Jemma asks, not quite in the mood for meandering through the disorganized shelves. This kind of chaos makes her skin crawl. She’s always valued pristine spaces and well-organized systems. 

The woman crosses her arms and looks at the man. “Yeah, Phil. Can you?” 

He grimaces and shrugs awkwardly. “I wish I could but…if you couldn’t tell, this place is kind of a mess. I just inherited it from my godfather and he didn’t exactly keep it tidy.” 

Jemma bites back her annoyance and instead gives him a polite smile. “I’m sorry for your loss.” 

And then her hunt begins. She wades through the chaotic stacks of VHS tapes, marveling at the fact that the place is still in business. She temporarily gets distracted by a stack of orange tapes–old Nickelodean programs that she’d enjoyed greatly as a child–and then moves forward. 

Finally, she sees the familiar title just down at the other end of the aisle. “Aha!” 

Just as she reaches out for it, another hand grabs for the exact same tape. She lets out an indignant little sqwack, following the hand up to a smug pair of blue eyes. 

“Excuse me, but I was reaching for that,” she says, thinly veiled anger bubbling just under the surface. She didn’t spend days thinking about this experience and drive two hours to this strange, dusty shop just to give up the tape. 

“See, but I got to it first,” he explains with a smug smile. “So if we’re playing by playground rules–” 

“–which I can’t imagine why we would be, given that we’re grown adults,” Jemma interrupts, but he ignores her and continues on. 

“–which obviously we are, since we’re grown adults in the last VHS rental store on Earth…well then, you know the saying. Finders keepers and all that.” 

She battles with the urge to ask him where in Scotland he’s from. It’s not every day that she meets someone else from the UK in the states, especially in a town this small, and each and every time she does she can’t help but want to engage the person in conversation about their mutual homeland. Her rage wins out in the end, though, and she steps forward to snatch it from his hand. 

“Look, I’m sorry, but I drove two hours to this store for this particular film.” 

A surprised laugh bursts from his lips. “Two hours? You’ve got to be joking.” 

She runs her hands over face and shoots him a sardonic look. “Do I look like I’m joking? This has been the l _ongest_ week of my life–” 

And then it occurs to her. She’d learned from her college roommate Bobbi that a good cry can get you out of almost anything–disciplinary action from the school for underage drinking, speeding tickets, awkward conversations with your parents about some of the charges on your credit card, and many more. 

Besides, it doesn’t take much to set her off anyway. A loud wail bubbles out of her mouth and the moisture in her eyes quickly follows. “I didn’t get a promotion at work, and then–and then this bloke stood me up–” 

She never uses the word _bloke_ , and she knows Bobbi would be rolling her eyes at Jemma’s fairly unconvincing dramatics, but she’s sure it’ll earn her brownie points with this Scottish guy. She just wants her movie and then she wants to go home.

“–and, and, and–” 

He plucks the video from her fingertips with a deft hand, tossing it into his other and then hiding it behind his back. “I’m afraid that won’t work on me. I grew up with a single mum and I can tell by the looks of you that a bad week wouldn’t send you in a tizzy.” 

She crosses her arms and wipes at her crocodile tears. “You don’t know the first thing about me.” 

“You’re right,” he concedes, and she decides to name him Smarmy Git. Smarmy Git smiles and leans against a precariously built shelf. “So how do I even know that you r _eally_ drove two hours for this video tape?” 

She huffs and reaches into her purse, plucking her license out of her wallet and handing it to him. “See? Look at my address!” 

“Jemma Simmons,” he reads. “Good name. 1945 Carter Street, Number 12. Huh, like Number Twelve Grimmauld Place–” 

Just like her UK urge, she pushes back the urge to ask him about his affinity for Harry Potter. After all, this is Smarmy Git that she’s dealing with. 

“Providence. You live in Providence, and you drove all the way here for this tape?” 

“I told you!” she exclaims petulantly, snatching her ID and shoving it back into her bag. “Now, please. Will you please let me have it? It’ll be returned in five days anyhow, and you can watch it then.” 

Smarmy Git considers her suggestion, a little twinkle springing to his admittedly-very-nice eyes. She stands as straight as possible, staring him dead in the face in her determination to walk out of Furious Video Rentals with that damn tape. 

“No,” he shrugs. She doesn’t catch the smile on his face as he turns to walk toward the counter, and her irrepressible competitive streak rears its ugly head. 

“I WILL FOLLOW YOU HOME AND WATCH IT WITH YOU!” she practically shrieks. He spins around, blue eyes wide. Phil coughs out a laugh from behind the counter and even the stern woman next to him manages a small smile at the spectacle.

“Excuse me?” Smarmy Git asks, looking stunned. 

“I said,” she repeats, voice low and deadly calm, “that I will follow you home and watch it with you. Even if I have to watch it through your bedroom window.” 

“Or you could just…ya know, watch it indoors with me. You drove all the way out here, seems a waste to head home to Providence so soon,” Smarmy Git suggests, blushing a nearly radioactive shade of red. Jemma splutters.

“Are you serious?” 

“Well…yeah. You seem…cool. I mean, you seem absolutely _insane_ , but mostly cool, underneath that.” 

His hands go to his hips and she examines him. He could be some kind of ax-murderer, but she’s never seen a murderer stand like a pregnant lady before. 

It’s an absolutely crazy proposition, but she finds herself considering it. 

“My roommate Daisy will probably be home, if that makes you feel better,” he adds in a rush. 

Not for the first time in her life, she asks herself WWBD, aka What Would Bobbi Do, and then makes a decision.

“Fine,” she agrees. “But you’re buying pizza.” 

He grins at her. “Deal.” 

It’s not until they reach his doorstep that she learns Smarmy Git is actually named Fitz, and halfway through the movie, she learns that Fitz is actually not such a Smarmy Git after all. 


	143. Dr. Fitz (ER AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Jemma Has Lupus AU

> Fitz looks up as he enters the small ER room where his next patient is waiting. It’s been a crazy night so far. An earthquake in Los Angeles had caused quite a few injuries, and as a resident at UCLA Medical Center, he’s been fielding a lot of them. 
> 
> “Alright, Ms. Simmons,” he announces as he enters. “What brings you in here today?” 
> 
> The woman sitting on the small bed crosses her arms and glares at him. “I’ve explained this four separate times. Do none of you actually check the chart?” 
> 
> He blinks in surprise. It’s not the first time he’s walked into a room and had a cranky patient. ER waiting times can get lengthy, and people aren’t at their nicest when they’re in pain. He’s mostly surprised by the British lilt to her voice. He grabs the chart at the foot of her bed and flips through it. 
> 
> “So, it looks like you’ve got a lot going on here,” he frowns. “Headaches, fatigue, aches–” 
> 
> “I had to frog march her in here,” a sudden voice says, surprising him. He jumps with an embarrassing squeak that brings a smile to his patient’s face. “Sorry, doc. I’m Skye, Jemma’s roommate.” 
> 
> “How long have your symptoms been going on?” Fitz asks Jemma, taking a seat in the little wheelie stool. Skye eyes it enviously. 
> 
> “Um, let’s see. Maybe a few days?” 
> 
> “No,” Skye disagrees. “It’s been weeks. Maybe even months. You barely get out of bed when you don’t have to.” 

> His brow furrows and he stands once again. “Do you mind if I get the lights on? I want to look at your face.” 
> 
> “Sure,” Jemma says quietly. He flicks them on and she flinches against the sudden brightness. 
> 
> “Ms. Simmons, are you wearing any make-up?” 
> 
> “No,” she says. “Why?” 
> 
> “Maybe he just thinks you’re cute,” Skye chirps, taking his vacated seat and spinning around once. “She’s single, by the way.” 
> 
> “Skye!” Jemma snaps. “Dr. Fitz, what’s the matter?” 
> 
> “Oh, nothing,” he assures her. “With your symptoms and these pink cheeks, I think we should test you for lupus.” 
> 
> “But it’s never lupus,” Skye chimes in. “If there’s one thing I learned from Dr. House–” 
> 
> “Dr. House isn’t exactly accurate,” Fitz interrupts. 
> 
> “So you don’t pop Vicodin like candy?” Skye asks rather hopefully.
> 
> “Nope.” 
> 
> “Bummer.” 
> 
> “What–what is that?” Jemma asks, looking near tears. Fitz places a comforting hand on her leg through the thin emergency room blanket. 
> 
> “It’s an autoimmune disease. The symptoms are completely treatable, and many people live completely normal lives–” 
> 
> “There’s no cure?” she asks sharply. He shakes his head slowly. 
> 
> “No, there isn’t. But let’s deal with that when we get there, okay? The nurse will come in and draw some blood. I’m giving you a small dose of dilaudid for your pain.” 
> 
> “Thank you,” Jemma says softly, playing with her hands. He pats her once last time.
> 
> “Hey, it’s gonna be fine. One way or another, you’re not leaving till we figure this out.” 
> 
> She smiles at him gratefully, and he flicks off the light as he leaves. 
> 
> *** 
> 
> “Your ANA tested positive,” Fitz says with a sympathetic grimace. “I’m going to start you on prednisone. It’s a steroid–” 
> 
> “I know what it is,” Jemma cuts him off. “What does this…what does this mean for me?” 
> 
> “I’ve written a referral for the best rheumotologist in town,” Fitz assures her. “You should be able to get in this week. Dr. May will be able to give you a better idea of what you’re dealing with and what’s ahead.” 
> 
> Jemma sniffs loudly and looks up at her roommate. “Skye, could you give us a minute?” 
> 
> “Yeah, of course.” 
> 
> Her roommate leaves and Jemma locks eyes with her cute doctor. “Level with me here. How normal is my life really going to be?” 
> 
> He leans back against the counter wearily. “Not one hundred percent. But think of it this way. You’ve already been fighting this thing for months, maybe even longer. Probably longer than you realize. Every time you get out of bed, you’re already kicking its ass.” 
> 
> She giggles, a watery sound that still lights him up. Halfway through an overnight shift, it’s amazing he’s even capable of feeling this way. 
> 
> “I’ve felt bad for a long time,” she admits. “A really long time, but I thought if I just…did more yoga and ate more kale or something, I would feel better.” 
> 
> “Well, I’m sure none of those things hurt,” he tells her. “You’re going to be just fine, Ms. Simmons. I can tell.” 
> 
> “Jemma,” she says. “Call me Jemma.” 
> 
> “Jemma,” he repeats, a crooked smile on his face. “I’d tell you to call me by my first name but no one does. I go by Fitz.” 
> 
> “Fitz,” she echoes, flashing him a little smile. “Look, I’m sure…you probably aren’t even allowed to do this but you’ve been so great and patient. I’d like to meet you outside of here, if that’s okay.” 
> 
> He watches her carefully. “Jemma…” 
> 
> “No, no, it’s okay,” she rushes to say. “I know that’s inappropriate. I’m so sorry for even–” 
> 
> “I was going to say I’m working night shift most of this week, but if you wanna meet me here on…say, Wednesday? I get off at 9 a.m. We could get some coffee, or tea, or whatever you like to drink in the morning.” 
> 
> She beams at him, brushing the lingering tears out of her eyes. “Wow, what a night. A diagnosis and a date with a cute doctor.” 
> 
> He knocks on the door frame with antsy hands. “My card is in your discharge papers. If you need anything or if you change your mind, my cell is on there.” 
> 
> “I won’t change my mind.” 
> 
> “Alright then.” 
> 
> He throws her a wink and leaves. Skye takes his place and begins giggling uncontrollably when she spots Fitz’s business card amongst the other papers, cell phone number jotted down by hand.
> 
> When she gets home, she spends hours on the internet, researching this new label for herself. She wonders if her life will ever be the same or if everything just changed. 
> 
> But at least she has one thing to look forward to. At least there’s Wednesday. 


	144. Waiters AU (FitzSimmons + Huntingbird)

Jemma stands in the lobby of The Playground, fixing her hair for the hundredth time. Embarrassingly, she’d specifically asked the hostess to seat them in Fitz’s section–which meant an extra fifteen minutes of waiting time. Daisy and Hunter exchange annoyed, if not slightly amused looks. 

“You’re lucky I like you,” Hunter teases. “It’s been a long week and I really, really need a beer.” 

“You always need a beer,” Jemma scoffs. “And don’t try to pretend like we didn’t wait for forty minutes last week just so you could get a spot in Bobbi’s section at the brewery last week.” 

Hunter’s long-time rival-turned-crush Bobbi Morse has a job as a server at a brewery down the street, Shield Pub and Restaurant. Lately, they’ve been alternating their little group dinners every Friday night from The Playground to Shield and back again. 

“You’re lucky I don’t abandon both of you and leave you to your waiter and waitress stalking devices,” Daisy jokes. The host appears in front of them with a smirk and a floral silk dress.

“I can seat you now.” 

Daisy rolls her eyes. She’s never been a fan of Raina, the vaguely creepy hostess at The Playground. Jemma feels her palms begin to sweat as they slide into a booth in Fitz’s section. She licks her lips nervously, fiddling immediately with her napkin and avoiding the bemused looks from her friends.

“Jemma, why don’t you just ask the guy out?” Daisy asks. It’s not the first time, but just like every other time she’s said it, Jemma’s cheeks flush hot. 

“It’s…I can’t just…” 

“You can,” Hunter insists. “You may not be my type, but you’re a catch, Simmy.” 

She rolls her eyes at the nickname, opening her mouth to retort when a familiar voice cuts through. 

“Hey guys,” Fitz greets, flipping open his notebook. “Back again?” 

“Jemma just _loves_ it here,” Daisy gushes, leaning forward on the table. “Right, Jemma?” 

“Oh, well…” 

Fitz smiles softly, avoiding her gaze. “Well, I’m glad to see you. It’s been a long night so far.” 

“Oh, has it?” Hunter jumps in. “Cause if you want…I think we’re heading over to Shield after this for drinks. Do you wanna join us when you’re off of work?” 

Jemma chokes on her own spit. “Uh, Hunter, I–” 

“That sounds great,” Fitz agrees. Jemma coughs four more times, and in the process Fitz begins patting her on the back. “You alright?” 

“Yes,” Jemma answers. “I’m just fine.” 

“Right then,” Fitz says, drawing his hand back. She immediately misses his warmth and she grimaces at the thought. “The usual, then?” 

“You got it,” Hunter winks. 

Fitz leaves to put in their usual drinks and appetizers. Jemma groans loudly, slapping her hands over her face. 

“Hunter!” she whines. “Why would you do that?” 

“Because, my tiny friend, tonight we’re going to do it,” Hunter says confidently. He kicks her lightly under the table. “You ask out Fitz, and I’ll ask out Bobbi.” 

Her hands fall away from her eyes so she can ascertain his seriousness. Daisy whoops excitedly. 

“Yes, please, let’s end this madness,” she begs. “This place is good and so is Shield but I really, really want to try that new place, Afterlife.” 

“So what do you say, Simmy?” Hunter grins, “Deal?” 

He holds his hand out across the table and Jemma squares her shoulders, reaching out and taking it. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. Deal.” 

They finish out their meal with little incident, even though Jemma is fairly positive that Fitz catches her watching him walk away. 

(It’s not her fault. The slacks he wears to work just so happen to accentuate his bum quite nicely) 

After she’s signed her check–and left him an exorbitant tip, as per usual–she leaves with Hunter and Daisy to head over to Shield. She’s nearly to the front door of the restaurant when she hears him call out. 

“Hey! Jemma!” he says, half-jogging to catch up with her across the restaurant. She spins around and looks at him hopefully. “Um, if I’m gonna meet up with you…and Hunter. And Daisy. I should probably get your phone number. Or Hunter’s. Or Daisy’s.”

He holds his phone out and her wishful thinking briefly makes her think that his hand might be shaking. She picks it up and nervously types in her number. 

He looks down at the screen when she hands it back, chuckling lowly. “Kemma, huh? See I always thought it was a J.” 

“Oh!” she grimaces. “I meant–um, well, I meant Jemma. Obviously. And I gave you my number because I don’t know Daisy’s or Hunter’s by heart–” 

That’s a lie. Of course she does. Jemma Simmons is always prepared and she’s memorized nearly her entire contact list just in case she’s ever stranded with no phone. 

“Got it,” he grins. “I’ll text you when I’m off and you can let me know if you’re still at Shield?” 

“Sounds good,” she breathes. Then she shakes herself, catching the pathetic tone in her voice. She dashes off toward Hunter, who holds the door open with a smarmy little smile on on his face. “Shut up.” 

He doesn’t even react, just laughs loudly and ushers her through. “Way to go! Giving out your digits.” 

“Ugh, Hunter,” Daisy moans. “Please don’t use the term ‘digits.’” 

“I can’t believe I just gave him my number,” Jemma whispers. Daisy bumps her hip, beaming proudly. 

“I can. C’mon, you’re a total babe, and you’ve been crushing on this guy forever. The Playground has some really great avocado egg rolls, but let’s not pretend that’s what we come here for.” 

Jemma tucks her hair behind her ears, nodding. “Yes well. You saw how things worked out for me last time.” 

“He’s not going to be like that,” Daisy assures her. She throws an arm around her friend’s shoulders as they trail after Hunter, crossing the street to Shield. “And if he is, I’ll kick his ass. I’ve been training at May’s, you know.” 

“Terrifying,” Jemma deadpans. 

*** 

Two martinis in, she forgets to leave her phone on the counter of the booth they move to. It remains in her purse, so she misses his text. 

Which is probably why he looks so terrified to show up unannounced, hands shoved in his pockets as he rocks back and forth. 

“Hey,” he says nervously. “I didn’t get a text back so…” 

“Oh!” she gasps, reaching for her phone and showing it to him. “It’s been in my bag. I’m really glad you came anyway.” 

“Ah, well,” he blushes, scratching behind one ear. “I should go grab a drink.” 

“Have a seat,” she insists, patting the booth beside her. “Bobbi should be back in a bit, unless she’s decided to finally change her name to avoid Hunter forever.” 

“Oh, you know Bobbi?” Fitz asks, helping himself to the peanuts on the table. “She used to work with me at The Playground.” 

“You know Bobbi?” Hunter chimes in excitedly. “Can you put in a good word for me? I could really use all the help I can get.” 

Fitz snorts and nods, putting one hand up to wave at the tall blonde making her way toward them. “Hey, Bird.” 

Jemma feels an inexplicable flood of jealousy. Why does Fitz have a nickname for the gorgeous blonde waitress that Hunter is in love with? That hardly seems fair. 

“Hey, Fitzy,” she grins. “I’ll grab you a beer.” 

“I had no idea you knew these guys,” Fitz says, gesturing around the table. 

“You know Hunter?” Bobbi asks doubtfully. Fitz nods enthusiastically. 

“Oh yeah, we go…way back. He’s one of the best…lads I know.” 

Hunter does his best to look innocent. It’s surprisingly convincing. 

“Huh,” Bobbi ponders. She wanders off to get another round and Hunter clambers out of the booth to follower her.

“Fitz, you absolute beauty.” 

“I need to pee,” Daisy announces. “So I’ll be in the bathroom, very far from both of you.” 

Jemma sighs heavily, dropping her head into her hands. “I’m sorry, my friends aren’t exactly subtle are they?” 

“Well, to be fair, I don’t think we are either,” Fitz laughs. He pinches the bridge of his nose as soon as he says it. “I mean, maybe…I don’t know, maybe there’s nothing from your end, but…” 

Jemma stops him, grabbing his hand where it sits on the table. “Maybe there is.” 

He licks his lips, staring up at her in surprise. “Oh.” 

“I really can’t afford to keep tipping you twenty dollars a meal,” Jemma admits, laughing in embarrassment. His jaw drops. 

“Kemma! Have you been trying to _buy me_?” 

She giggles–and since when does she giggle?–and slaps his arm. “I’m never escaping that, am I?” 

“Nope,” he grins. “But uh…maybe if you let me take you to dinner tomorrow night, I’ll consider changing your name in my phone.” 

She bites back a grin. “I’ll take that deal.” 

He shoots her a crooked grin that makes her head spin, but the moment is broken by Bobbi and Hunter’s bickering rapidly approaching. As the night goes on, she learns that Fitz is a server by night and a grad student in architecture by day. He gets along incredibly well with her friends and seems genuinely interested in the article she writes for the paper. 

When he says goodnight to her out front of a cab, she impulsively presses her lips to his cheek and giddily slides away. She doesn’t make it far; he grabs onto her and kisses her, surprisingly softly for someone who didn’t seem to think twice about the action.

“So…uh, dinner?” he asks when he pulls back. She nods wordlessly and he smiles in relief. “Great. See you tomorrow, Jemma.” 

Apparently all it took was a kiss to forgive the typo. She’s perfectly all right with that. 


	145. Rising Tide (Season One AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A re-cast Season 1 AU, where Jemma is a Rising Tide hacker apprehended by Ops agent Leo Fitz. 
> 
> (Planned for extension into a full-length fic)

> “Don’t make me do this,” Agent Fitz tells his supervising officer Phil Coulson. “She’s a dead end anyway.” 
> 
> Coulson crosses his arms, leaning against the door just outside of the prison cell they refer to as The Cage. “I think she has something. I think we need to make her think she has the upper hand.” 
> 
> Fitz considers this carefully. “You may have a point there. Little Miss Rising Tide wants to have control.” 
> 
> “Exactly. I’m going to have Morse inject you with a serum–” 
> 
> “Woah, woah,” Fitz says quickly, holding his hands up. “You’re not dosing me with truth serum, sir.” 
> 
> Coulson grimaces sympathetically. “What, afraid that a tiny hacker can get something out of you? You’re one of our best Ops agents, Fitz. I’m sure you’ll be just fine.” 
> 
> Fitz sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Fine, I’ll do it.” 
> 
> “Morse!” Coulson calls. The tall blonde appears as if from nowhere, still wearing her goggles from the lab. Fitz nearly jumps. The biochemist has an uncanny ability to sneak up on him. Her partner, crabby engineer Lance Hunter, follows closely behind her with an excitable look on his face. 
> 
> She doesn’t even warn him, just shoves him into the cage and shoves the needle into his neck. “Agh!” 
> 
> Morse smiles awkwardly at the hacker sitting at the interrogation table. “Hi there. I’m Agent Morse. Agent Fitz here has just been dosed with a truth serum.” 

> Jemma Simmons throws her head back in a laugh. She leans forward on the table, offering a generous glimpse down her blouse. “Oh well this will be fun.” 
> 
> “I will…leave you to it,” Agent Morse says awkwardly, bobbing out of the room. Fitz feels a strange tingling feeling in his head. _Oh God_. 
> 
> “So, Agent Fitz,” Jemma Simmons murmurs, tilting her head to the side. He bites his tongue to prevent himself from telling her how appealing she looks. “What brought you into being a SHIELD agent? Bad childhood? Ax to grind? Bullied as a teenager?” 
> 
> “All of the above,” he blurts out. He exhales sharply. “Dad left when I was nine, never came back. Mum was always working to make ends meet so I spent a lot of time alone and being a scrawny poor kid with no dad is one way to attract a lot of bullies.” 
> 
> Her brow furrows and she leans back. “Oh. Oh no. That truth serum is real.” 
> 
> “Apparently so,” he huffs, falling into the chair across from her. “Basically, Simmons, if you don’t give us what we need to know…we can get it this way.” 
> 
> She gulps nervously, for the first time displaying some kind of nervousness. “Oh.” 
> 
> “Yep,” Fitz says, clenching his hands into fists on the table. “So, Simmons. What can you tell me about that man?” 
> 
> “Nothing,” Jemma fires back immediately. She regains her bravado and leans back in her chair. “So, Agent Robot. Do you think I’m pretty?” 
> 
> “Yes,” comes out of his mouth before he can stop himself. He calls on everything he learned in Ops training to keep himself from blushing, but even underneath the excellent marksmanship and slim-fit suits, he’s still the awkward nerd who was originally recruited for his brilliant. 
> 
> “It’s a shame you know,” Jemma smiles. “Under normal circumstances, I think we actually could have got on.” 
> 
> “I doubt that,” he says. He grits his jaw to keep himself from saying anything else even as she smirks. She chews on her lip in a way that has him shifting uncomfortably under the table. 
> 
> “How come?” 
> 
> “A girl like you? C’mon,” he scoffs. “I’d have spent months trying to come up with something smart enough to get your attention. You’re brilliant.” 
> 
> “You think I’m brilliant?” she asks, looking slightly awestruck. 
> 
> “Well, yeah,” he shrugs. “Of course I do. Top of your class at Cambridge, PhD by 17 years old. That’s just objective brilliance.” 
> 
> “Don’t you want to know what made me join a hacktivist organization?” 
> 
> Fitz shakes his head. “Honestly? No. I want to know who this man is so that we can help him. He needs to be protected. That’s what we’re here for.” 
> 
> Jemma’s lip curls. “Oh, that’s rich. SHIELD, protecting people?” 
> 
> “It’s kind of in the name,” Fitz fires back. “We’re here to protect the public from things and people that they don’t understand, but we’re also here to protect those things and people from the public. With great power comes–” 
> 
> “–great responsibility, I know.” 
> 
> “I was actually going to say ‘a bunch of shit that not everyone is prepared to deal with’, but we’ll go with responsibility.” 
> 
> “You’re just a scared little boy hiding behind a gun and a badge,” Jemma spits, but there’s less fire to it than when they’d first pulled her out of her van. “He doesn’t need your help.” 
> 
> “He does,” Fitz insists. “Simmons, there are people looking for him. People who want to hurt him, and we have reason to believe that whatever is creating his powers is incredibly volatile. Our scientists think it’s a poorly designed super serum, similar to–” 
> 
> “Captain America,” she finishes, beginning to look slightly unnerved. “So he’s..” 
> 
> “He could die,” Fitz says candidly. “He could die and so could a lot of other people. So please, Simmons. I am truly asking you to help me out here. What is his name?” 
> 
> She shuts her eyes, weighing her options. When she opens them, she still looks unsure. “If I don’t tell you, you’ll just inject me with that stuff, won’t you?” 
> 
> “I would really rather not,” he admits. “Seems like a real invasion of privacy to me.” 
> 
> “And you care about that?” 
> 
> “Of course I do,” he says. “You can think I’m the bad guy all you want, but I couldn’t lie right now even if I wanted to. I’m here to protect people. People like him and people like you, even if you hate me.” 
> 
> Her expression softens. “His name is Mike. Mike Peterson.” 
> 
> He stands immediately. “Thank you.” 
> 
> He turns to leave and she stops him.
> 
> “Agent Fitz?” 
> 
> “Yeah?” 
> 
> “I know who you are,” she says quietly. “Before all of this.” 
> 
> She gestures vaguely at his suit and the gun on his hip. 
> 
> “I think you’re brilliant, too. I really do think we would have gotten on.” 
> 
> “Yeah, well,” he mumbles. “That was then.” 
> 
> Then he leaves, and Jemma sits in the Cage with her thoughts swirling. What brought Leo Fitz to be an Operations agent at SHIELD? He’d been the only person on earth who could have given her brain a run for its money, and now he’s someone’s muscle monkey.
> 
> She regrets not asking him when she had the prime opportunity to receive a good answer, but she decides that it’s better this way. When Coulson enters some time later and offers her an olive branch in the form of consulting for SHIELD, she thinks briefly of Fitz’s blue eyes. She says yes. 


	146. Garden of Innovation (SciOps AU)

Jemma had been so completely sure that her experiment was going to work. She’d spent months pulling all-nighters in the lab. The dendrotoxin should have been perfect. 

Then she’d shot Fitz with it and he’d been unconscious for _three hours_. 

He’d come to in the hospital wing of Sci-Ops and she’d eased him through his initial discomfort. As soon as he’d fallen back asleep, still exhausted from the effects of her chemical compound, she’d bolted to this little bench in the Garden of Innovation. 

Most of her fellow lab-rats very rarely ventured outside of their respective buildings, let alone to the land bordering the Sci-Ops campus. Given the fact that SHIELD is technically a secret organization, it’s designed to look like any other high-tech lab facility. 

Ever since she and Fitz moved to SciOps, she’d been coming here to sit in on particular corner. The Garden of Innovation serves as a timeline of SHIELD’s greatest scientific accomplishments, dating all the way back to the days when their organization was the SSR. 

Her favorite spot is a little bench, hidden behind a weeping willow–a small plaque near the base of the tree touting the success of the super serum that created Captain America as the world now knows him. 

She likes it here because there’s little foot traffic, and even passerby on the dirt trail never see her. At least, that’s what she thought. 

“Jemma.” 

She looks up into Fitz’s worried face and immediately stands, ushering him to sit on the bench. “Fitz! What are you doing up and about? I told the doctors you needed at least twenty-four hours…” 

He snorts and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jemma, you’re not a medical doctor.” 

“I might as well be,” she huffs. “How did you find me back here?” 

“You think you’re the only one who comes out here?” he laughs. “I happen to prefer the Peggy Carter rose garden over on the West side, but I can see the appeal of this tree.” 

“I’m so sorry,” she mumbles after a beat of silence. “It wasn’t ready for testing and I never should have–” 

“Jemma, please–” 

“And you were just lying there, completely still and hardly breathing and–” 

Before she can stop it, a sob rips from her throat and he grabs onto her, her head falling comfortably into the crook of his neck and soaking the collar of his shirt. “I _told_ you to test it. Sure, it was more powerful than we expected but this is science. This is what happens.” 

“Not to you,” she asserts fiercely, pulling herself back to stare at him. “Lab rats and volunteers for clinical trials–that I can handle. But not you. I can’t risk you. You could have died.” 

He licks his lips and swallows thickly, staring at her in a way she’s never seen before. “You’re really upset.” 

Her brow furrows. “Of course I am. You’re the most important person in the world to me.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, really,” she insists. Jemma reaches out and grasps his hand, rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb. She takes a deep, shaking breath. “I can’t believe you come here.” 

“Yeah, well,” he grins crookedly, shrugging in that adorable way that she finds so endearing. “We’ve always thought alike. I’ve seen you here a few times, but I’ve always figured this is where you come to be alone.” 

A surge of affection rushes through her, her heart clenching with the utter and complete adoration she feels for this man. He’s only twenty-one and so is she, but they have three PhDs between the two of them and he’s been beside her through everything. 

It’s half-impulse and half-destiny when she leans forward and kisses him. She’s sure he must taste salt on her lips from her tears, and he temporarily stiffens before he melts completely into her, his hands resting on either side of her neck. 

“You can’t kiss me just because you think I could have died,” he murmurs when he pulls away. He keeps his eyes shut, almost painfully tight, and she can’t have that. She surges into him once more, lightly brushing her nails down his clean-shaven face. 

“Good thing I’m not,” she breathes. Her eyes flutter open in tandem with his. “Sometimes all it takes is something…some event…that shifts your perspective. I’ve shifted. And I hope…I hope you have too. I know I’m like your sister–” 

“I’m an only child but I’m pretty sure you are not supposed to have those kinds of dreams about your siblings,” he jokes, waggling his eyebrows. She can’t help the giggle spilling from her lips. The urge to cry finally leaves her. He is healthy and whole in front of her, glowing from the aftermath of their kisses.

She wants to see how radiant he can be. She grabs him by the neck and pulls him down once again. This may be her spot, but she’s willing to share with him. 


	147. Socks The Puppy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fitzsimmons + you came to look at the puppies i have for sale and you’re so into it that i can’t help but kneel down and help you assess them au please?

Jemma answers the door with a bright, welcoming smile, sincerely hoping that this next visitor will not only want a dog, but will be competent enough that she’ll actually _let them_ have one.

In a very characteristic move, her roommate Skye had taken in a stray dog–only to find out too late that she was pregnant. Now, three months later, they’ve got six puppies that need homes. Skye had been willing to hand them out in the street, but Jemma requires a fairly stringent screening process. While dogs aren’t exactly her favorite to begin with, she can’t help but be a little bit attached to the wobbly little chunk monsters destroying the gorgeous crown moulding of the apartment she shares with Skye. 

“Hi,” the young man says, hands shoved into his pockets. The first thing she notices about him is that his eyes are a striking shade of blue. “I saw your ad about uh–the um, the–dogs?” 

She can’t tell if his stutter is from nerves or something else. She decides it’s probably none of his business anyway and ushers him inside. “Yes, you’re in the right place! So they’re lab and border collie mixes. Well, we think. My roommate kind of brought home the mum without consulting me and now we have a litter of puppies.” 

He grins crookedly, eyes lighting up as he enters the living room. The puppies are penned off in a large golden fence. “Can I–um, play with ‘em?” 

“Of course!” she chirps. “There’s four boys and two girls, if you have a gender preference.” 

He lets himself into the gate and she follows him, watching as he immediately crouches down only to be completely swarmed by puppies. A surprised laugh spills from his lips and she’s surprised how pleased she is by the sound.  

His brow furrows after several moments of doing his best to pet as many dogs at once as he can with only two hands. It’s then that she notices one of his hands trembles rather forcefully. 

“I’m Jemma, by the way,” she says, finally introducing herself. He looks up in surprise and chuckles. 

“Ah, right. Fitz.” 

“Nice to meet you, Fitz. Having trouble making a choice?” 

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I mean how do you–look at ‘em. They’re all just so fluffy and–” 

“Smelly and bitey?” Jemma suggests lightheartedly. As if on cue, one of the little girl puppies clamps down on his hand. “Sorry, they’re teething. They’re only 11 weeks, so–” 

“It’s to be expected,” he finishes. “Right. Well uh, which one do you think seems most…” 

He trails off, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. She wants to help him find the word, the realization settling over her that his trembling hand and his stutter are probably related. 

“…trainable,” he finally finds with a snap of his fingers. “I’m looking for a uh–a service dog. My friend knows a trainer but she said it’s easiest to get–to get a puppy.” 

Jemma immediately knows which one to hand him. Personally, this puppy is her favorite and she’d been secretly hoping that maybe no one would pick it and she could keep it. But Fitz, she decides, is more than worthy of her favorite. 

She’s the smallest of the litter, black like her siblings but with a large splash of white on her chest and one white paw. “This little one. She’ll be perfect for you, I just know it.” 

“Really?” 

“Oh, yes. She’s already doing great with potty training and she’s a dear. I know she’s the runt of the litter, but I have big hopes for her.” 

“You seem to uh, to like that one,” he smiles, taking the puppy from her hands. The warmth of his fingers brushing on hers brings a blush to her cheeks. 

“Well, maybe I could still visit?” she suggests tentatively, embarrassed by the high pitch to her voice. His jaw goes slack and a beat of silence follows her awkward line before he finally begins nodding. 

“Yeah. That’d be–we’d like that.” 

Then he lifts the puppy up and coos at her. The puppy manages to lick his face and he laughs delightedly, which sends her off. Two others clamber into her lap and she pets them distractedly, watching Fitz bond with his new friend. When he leaves, she gives him her phone number in hopes that he’ll actually call. 

A few hours later, she receives a text from an unknown number. She opens it to find a picture message of the puppy, sitting in a huge plush bed and surrounded by every kind of dog toy imaginable. 

_I think I’ve got a problem._

She laughs and sends a quick text back. _You’re going to have one spoiled dog on your hands. Did you name her?_

It’s not long before she receives one in return. _You’re going to think it’s so ridiculous._

_What is it?_

_….Socks._

She decides at that moment that she may just like him more than she’s ever liked anyone, because who on earth names a puppy Socks and he’s obviously already so in love with the dog that it melts her. She sends him a dog emoji followed by a red heart and can’t bother to hide her excitement when he asks if she’d like to come with him to take Socks to the park soon. 


	148. Eskimo Kisses (The Morning After)

Jemma wakes with fluttering eyes. A heavy weight lays across her stomach and she immediately recognizes the familiar scent and feel of Fitz beside her. 

Today, they’ll be donning unfamiliar clothes and venturing undercover. But this morning, this moment, is theirs. His eyes are closed but she can tell that he isn’t actually sleeping–he’s hovering somewhere in between twilight and waking, reveling in the comfort of this moment just as much as she is. 

She leans forward and brushes her nose against his, back and forth, a soft touch after an entire evening of heat and nails and release. 

He groans, weakly shaking his head back and forth to return her affections. She can’t help but giggle as he struggles to open his eyes. She leans back to look at him, brushing a hand over his hairline.

“Good morning, Fitz.” 

“Mmph,” he replies. She laughs once again and leans in to brush her nose against his once more. “Do I not get real kisses?” 

“Oh, so now you can speak?” she teases. 

He pouts his lips out, eyes still shut, looking adorable and rather petulant as he seeks her lips. She swoops down to kiss him lightly, once, and then returns to rubbing the tip of her nose against his. He whines.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever told you,” Jemma says quietly, leaning back and rolling fully on her side to face him. His eyes open fully now, apparently surprised that there’s something he doesn’t know about her. “When I was young, my parents would tell me they loved me before I could speak. Apparently, I would always do that. I would rub my nose on their nose, little eskimo kisses. My parents always say that I was trying to say it back. I just wasn’t sure how.” 

This seems to knock the breath out of him. He inhales sharply and watches her carefully. “Oh?” 

“Mhm,” she hums. She leans forward and does it yet again. “So…maybe I’ve never known how to say it. I don’t think I’ve learned, but…I do, you know.” 

He leans forward to nuzzle her quickly, pecking her lips and tucking her hair behind her ear. “I do too.” 

She sighs in relief, a wide smile breaking out over her features. “Is that enough for now?” 

“’Course it is,” he shrugs. “I know you don’t wanna waste any more time–” 

“–which you seemed to have no problem with last night, might I add–” 

He rolls his eyes at her interruption. “Yeah, well, I’m trying to say that I’ve waited a long time and all of this–it’s all more than enough. _You’re_ more than enough. Always have been.” 

She opens her mouth to speak, determined to say it–to get out those three all-important words that have somehow never been exchanged between them, even in friendship–but a knock on the door interrupts them. 

“Fitz!” May says sharply. “Simmons isn’t in her bunk, no one can locate her.” 

He flushes bright red and Jemma loses all color in her face. “Oh, um, May? I’m–I’m in here.” 

A beat of silence follows. 

“Good for you two,” May finally says. If Jemma didn’t know any better, she’d swear there was a smile in her voice. “Get decent and meet in the briefing room in twenty.” 


	149. Shifting Perspectives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 3x17 kisses from both Jemma and Fitz's perspectives

She’s not even really thinking, when she leans her head against his shoulder. She just wants to feel close to him, as close as she can possibly get. Her first thought when she’d regained her bearings after being blown back by a grenade was _Fitz,_ just as he’d been her first thought when she was stuck at the Hub with Trip during the rise of Hydra. This moment feels no different. As she reaches over to grasp his hand, it’s like being sent back to that motel pool, reaching over to hold him. Sitting in the lab while the “Real SHIELD” rustled through their things, reaching over to hold him and feeling every inch of her relax when he’d placed his other hand on hers. 

She can feel his eyes burning into her and she looks up at him, moving in slowly because all she wants is a quiet moment. All she wants is this, and it seems like he understands her when his eyes flicker to her lips. She sucks in a breath and tilts her head upward for easier access, electrified when he finally kisses her. He pulls back and for a moment, her stomach plummets until he swoops in once more, kissing her more deeply this time. Just as she finally allows herself to get lost in it, he yanks himself away and shoves his palms into his eyes. 

She wants to feel guilty but instead she just feels frustrated, and she’s sure the annoyance is all over her face. He doesn’t look at her to find it, though, and when he asks if it’s too fast she balks. It’s been ten years, she tells him, trying to emphasize that it’s been ten years since she’s loved him, ten years that she didn’t realize but ten year nonetheless and six months apart didn’t change that. 

And when he tells her she’s magnificent, only to turn it into a joke that is so very Fitz in the midst of chaos and the storm of butterflies erupting in her gut, she decides to do exactly what she wants. Okay, she says, and then she reaches up and grabs him, not missing the way his expression shifts when he sees her approaching. Self-satisfied and pleased, just before she covers his mouth with hers. A little noise of surprise and, if she knows him at all and she’s sure that she does, triumph. 

It feels like a victory to her, because she is finally _happy,_ finally doing what she wants to do and having who she wants to have. If this is selfish, she’s alright with that. 

This is the life she survived for. She won’t waste another second of it. 

*** 

The second that her head lands on his shoulder, it starts up again, that feeling he always gets when she touches him. It’s excruciating but also beautiful, the most distinct combination of pleasure and pain that a human being could ever experience. 

Her hand wraps around his and he talks to her. He has to keep talking or he’ll never be able to stop himself from doing what he really wants to do, what he’s been wanting to do ever since that afternoon in the lab. When she’d asked him for a fresh start he had immediately accepted even though it stung to think of erasing that moment. 

Sure, it had been imperfect but he can’t bring himself to regret his first kiss with her. 

She shifts and looks up at him and now he’s silent. He’s stopped talking and so has she. The chain of events happens exactly as he knew it would. His eyes latch onto her lips and he can’t seem to pull away. He’s tugged to her like gravity, the same way he’s spent ten years living in her orbit. It’s soft and sweet and everything their first kiss wasn’t. 

When he finally gathers the strength to pull away from her, she chases him and he gives in once more, allowing himself for one brief moment to absorb everything about her. Then he wrenches himself away, struggling to control his breathing as he apologizes profusely because he knows it’s too soon. He knows he’s rushing things. 

But she stops him, tells him it’s been ten long years and _god_ , does he feel it. He’s known her since they were children and maybe she’s right, maybe they have waited too long. 

He looks at her and tells her she’s magnificent, morphing her brilliant laugh into a tender expression. He can’t help making a snarky comment about the picture of space and his efforts are thankfully rewarded by another laugh. 

He sees her coming out of the corner of his eye and he nearly can’t believe it. He can’t help but feel proud of himself, that Jemma Simmons is cutting off his snark and sass with a kiss, and he’s sure she can feel it. He still makes a little noise of surprise when she practically climbs into his lap. 

He’s jumped through a hole in the universe. He’s designed not one, but two planes. He’s saved his friends with only his brain and his bare hands. 

But none of that, not a single second of it, compares to this. 


	150. Sisterly Advice (JemBob Brotp)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime before Parting Shot. Jemma’s little grin after Mack’s Huntingbird comment in 3x18 had me thinking that Bobbi had told her a thing or two about turning off comms. So here’s some Jembob BroTP ficlet love:

“So, have the two of you talked yet?” Bobbi says bluntly. 

Jemma’s not sure why she expected anything less. After all, it’s not the first time that Bobbi has assaulted her with personal questions in the lab. 

“We’ve…decided to start over,” Jemma tells her delicately, focusing even more intently on the project at hand. Bobbi scoffs and abandons her microscope. 

“Seriously? What, did you two reintroduce yourselves or something?” 

Jemma feels her cheeks heat up and hears Bobbi groan loudly. She can practically picture the blonde rolling her head back to look at the ceiling in utter frustration.

“Do you have _any idea_ how many times Hunter and I have done that?” Bobbi demands. “Because even _I_ don’t know. It’s been that many times. Seriously, the whole starting over thing is just a bad way to avoid talking about the root of your problems–”

“We don’t have any problems,” Jemma cuts her off rather sharply. Bobbi raises her eyebrows, meeting Jemma’s eyes in a challenge. Jemma huffs and relents. “Alright, well, we may have some problems.” 

“The key of which is communication,” Bobbi advises sagely. Jemma is tempted to snap at her, given that Bobbi is in a relationship with her ex-husband, but even she has to admit that Bobbi and Hunter are probably the healthiest example of a relationship on the entire base. 

“True,” Jemma admits grudgingly. “But by starting over, I’m hoping that–” 

“You’re not going to talk about it,” Bobbi informs her matter-of-factly. “You’re both going to pretend like Will didn’t happen and that Fitz isn’t drowning in guilt over killing him.” 

“He didn’t kill him!” Jemma denies heatedly. “He did no such thing! He freed Will’s body from a horrible fate as a vessel for some horrendous demon.” 

“Of course he didn’t,” Bobbi shrugs. “But Fitz? Fitz doesn’t think that. I know you’ve been looking at him, Jemma. Anyone can see it. He’s drowning and if you don’t talk about it, he’s going to keep drowning.” 

Jemma considers this carefully and bites her lip, looking away. “I can’t even imagine when we would have the time for a conversation like that.” 

“In this job, you make time,” Bobbi laughs. “Do you have any idea how many times Hunter and I have had problems with our comms?” 

Jemma’s brow furrows. “Is that some sort of metaphor about intimate communication?” 

Bobbi snorts inelegantly. “Don’t get me wrong, we have definitely have had problems with that. Sometimes if there’s downtime on a mission, that’s the only time we have. So, we’ll turn off the comms or pretend we’re losing clarity, and then we’ll talk.” 

This piques Jemma’s interest. “Oh _really_?” 

“Mhm,” Bobbi hums, returning to fiddling with her microscope. “I’m just saying, if the moment arises–you should take it. Or if you’re out in the field with Fitz and he says something about comms–” 

“Then I’ll know what’s coming,” Jemma breathes. She doesn’t have to ask if Bobbi has had a similar conversation with Fitz. She can already tell, and she won’t press. His relationship with Bobbi was one that had surprised her upon her return and one that she still doesn’t completely understand, but one that she respects regardless. 

So, long after Bobbi and Hunter have taken a bullet for their team, Fitz makes the move and Jemma plays along. Bobbi was right–it works like a charm. 

Even though Mack wasn’t fooled for a second. 


	151. The Morning After The Event Horizon

It’s not quite like the movies. They’re not waking up in the bed where they first…made love. That bed is in a Romanian hotel, and basically as soon as they’d finished, they had to scramble into their clothes and dash to the Quinjet to meet up with Mack. 

The thought is strange to him, that they’ve crossed this line, and he’s not sure what to call it. Having sex feels too plain. Making love feels corny. Anything else feels perverted or detached. 

Making love it is, he thinks to himself. 

He rolls over as lightly as he can in her small bed. After returning home from Romania and de-briefing with Coulson, they’d retired to their bunks. Jemma had been having none of it, though, and dragged him into hers. His had been more greatly damaged than hers had in Daisy’s escape, and Fitz had truthfully been pleased to sleep in a bed not covered in dust. 

But last night at the hotel–and after, when they’d returned home–had been something else entirely. Something more than any phrase could encompass. It was as though they’d created a new universe, one where they had always been in love, one where they seemlessly and intimately worked together the same way that they always had in the lab. He imagines, feeling ridiculous, that this is what the Big Bang must have felt like. He snorts at the inappropriate pun, prepared to allow his mind to wander once more. 

A giggle stirs him from his thoughts. “What are you thinking about?” 

He looks down at Jemma, wrapped only in a sheet, and feels his mind go temporarily blank. “The Big Bang.” 

“Of course you are,” she sighs, reaching up to brush her thumb over his cheekbone. Her hand moves to the back of his head and she frowns. “What is this? Did I do this?” 

It’s a large bump, a painful knot caused by his collision with the wall when Daisy had quaked him backward. “Ah, no. Daisy.” 

She grimaces and moves quickly. He’s always found her cat-like. Reserved in her affections but incredibly sweet when she chooses to be, fast and lithe in some ways but utterly clumsy in others. She flips him over and straddles his back before he can even speak, instead just letting out a little surprised puff of air. 

He feels her bed down, and her lips find the large lump. She kisses it softly, one, twice, three times, before she climbs off of him. He rolls over onto his side and brushes her hair away.

“See? Fine now.” 

She looks like she wants to protest, but restrains herself. She stares at him, long and hard, and then breaks into giggles. “Can you believe this?” 

“No,” he says honestly. “Truly, I can’t.” 

She surges forward to kiss him soundly, cold hands running down his free arm. “The physical evidence is right in front of you.” 

“That just means I’ve got a provable hypothesis,” he says cheekily. “It’s certainly not a theorem yet.” 

“I would hope that this is one thing we’ve accomplished together that won’t land in a History of SHIELD textbook,” Jemma teases back. He chuckles and nuzzles his nose against hers, feeling bold under her persistent affections. 

“If you ask me, it far outshines the Night Night Gun.” 

“The ICER!” Jemma exclaims indignantly. “And yes, last night did outshine the ICER but it certainly didn’t outshine our ultimate accomplishment–” 

“The second time last night?” he can’t help but add. She crinkles her nose, but he sees her face struggling to hold back a grin. 

“–curing an alien virus.” 

“Oi, what about jumping through a hole in the universe?” he protests. “Because if you ask me that was most impressive of all.” 

Jemma rolls her eyes, leaning forward on one elbow to look at him. He likes the look of her in this light, he decides, soft and disheveled and a little bit tired. 

“Of course it was,” she says sincerely. “You saved my life.” 

His brow furrows. “I’ve already told you, there was no other choice.” 

“There was,” she asserts. “But you chose me.” 

Her words hang a little heavy for a moment, but her fingertips continue brushing against his forearm in a way that is entirely too comforting. 

“Just as I’ve chosen you,” she murmurs affectionately. He looks up at her hopefully, a bittersweet taste in his mouth. 

“Oh. Ah. Really?” 

“Really,” she confirms. She kisses him softly and settles in beside him, nestling into his neck comfortably, as though they’ve been doing this for ten years. “So, Dr. Fitz. Do you think we’ve maintained a sufficiently professional relationship?” 

“Well, Dr. Simmons, I have to say. I think we excel at it.” 

Their giggles echo into the hallway. Mack ushers May past the door as quickly as he can.


	152. Brand New Neighbors AU

An insistent knocking prevents him from completely enjoying the movie playing out on his screen, some mindless action flick starring Lance Hunter. The sheer volume of his television has probably alerted his unwanted visitor that he’s home to begin with so, with a heavy sigh, he presses pause and swings open the door. 

It’s a woman around his age, sweaty from a jog but otherwise bright-eyed and perky for so early on a Tuesday morning. 

“Hi there,” she chirps. “I was wondering if perhaps you know where Grant Ward moved to? See, I just moved in to his old apartment last week, and I keep getting his mail. He must not have put a forwarding address in with the office, and–” 

His hand shakes and then clenches against the door frame. She seems to notice the abrupt change in his body language and steps back. 

“Oh. I’m so sorry, I’ll…um…” 

And then she scampers off across the hall, slamming the door to her apartment. He takes several deep breaths before he finally remembers to close his own door, shuffling back to his living room. Mack will be here any minute to hassle him to get ready and then drag him to speech therapy. 

And it’s all because of the man across the hall. He’s the one who caused this, and yet it’s him, Fitz, who’s chased away the pretty girl who took his place like something out of Beauty and the Beast. 

Whining low in his throat, he throws himself back onto the couch and waits for Mack.

*** 

Three days later, the knocking returns. This time, it’s the early evening. He peeks through the hole in the door and see hers, bouncing nervously on her feet with some sort of container in her hands. She murmurs something to herself, her mouth hardly moving, and he decides to get it over with and opens the door. 

“Hi!” she exclaims. “I don’t think I properly introduced myself before. I’m Jemma Simmons. I’m a bit of a cook–well, I’m a chef actually, that’s my job–so I tend to make a lot of food. I thought I could bring this by…” 

It smells delicious. He’d never been a great cook, even before, but since the injury he struggles to do most activities that require fine motor skills. He musters up a half-smile, trying to appear less threatening than he had before. 

“Ah–this is–yeah, thanks.” 

Her smile grows, a little twinkle in her eye. “It should still be warm. It’s free of most common allergens. I wasn’t sure if you were allergic to nuts or gluten or anything, so–” 

His eyebrows raise on their own accord. So this hadn’t just been extra food after all. As quickly as his hope rises, he squishes it back down. She’s here for pity, obviously, and he knows that. 

Regardless, he keeps himself from lashing out. “Thanks again.” 

His hand is trembling again and he’s surprised he even got two words out. He retreats before she can try to make him talk any more. 

*** 

The next time he bumps into her is two weeks later. He’s managed to avoid her (but not her many, many gifts of food. He slipped a note under her door to let her know the prosciutto and mozzarella sandwich was his favorite). 

Of course it’s when he’s getting out of Mack’s car. His burly, handsome giant of a friend introduces himself to Jemma with one gigantic hand and he doesn’t miss the way her eyes skim Mack’s form. Fitz tucks his cardigan more tightly around himself and pushes past them. Mack watches him go with a frown on his face. 

*** 

“Why don’t you like me?” she asks him bluntly next to the mailboxes the next time he catches her. 

“Wh–what?” 

“You hardly speak to me,” Jemma points out, a bit more cautiously. She plays with her hands nervously. “I–well, to be completely honest, I had a bit of a crush on you when I first moved in here and I thought–I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable with my attention. I know I come on strong, but–” 

“Wait,” he interrupts, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand. “You–ah–sorry, you’re moving just a little–” 

“Fast?” she finishes breathlessly. He chuckles lowly and winds his wrist around. 

“Yeah. I’m a little–well, I’m uh–recovering. From something. I’m–not so fast.” 

Her eyes widen and he expects to see pity there, but instead it’s just amazement. “I thought you just hated me!” 

“No,” he rushes to say. “No. No, no. I probably wouldn’t have um…wouldn’t have known what to say to you even _before_ , so…” 

“Just so you know,” she says boldly, stepping a bit closer. She cautiously reaches out to touch his shaking hand. “I don’t have to go so fast all the time. And my um…my attentions, still stand.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yes,” Jemma says, backing up with a slight smile on her face. “I was about to make some lunch and watch a movie. How about joining me?” 

“Only if it’s–uh, that one I like.” 

“Prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella,” she beams, leading the way down the hall to her apartment. 

“Yeah but there’s something else. Like a–some kind of pesto?” 

She nods excitedly, unlocking the door and holding it open for him. “My homemade pesto aioli. But just a hint.” 

It’s the laziest first date he’s ever had. They watch Monty Python and fire questions back and forth, but he finds that speaking to her slowly becomes easier throughout the afternoon. She doesn’t try to finish all of his sentences and lets him try to find the words on his own. 

When he goes home, he realizes that his hand is steady. He’ll never be cured, sure, but for the first time since the EMTs pulled him out of the water, he’s starting to think that maybe he’s not cursed after all. 


	153. High (Hollywood AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one has a big DRUGS TRIGGER WARNING.
> 
> The prompt was Fitz + doing drugs 
> 
> Takes place before Fitz's overdose in the Hollywood AU, shortly after Penny's death

Her phone blares on her bedside table. She moans, the swimming red letters of her clock telling her that’s it’s just past 3:00 in the morning. Bobbi’s name appears on the screen of her phone and she answers groggily. 

“‘Lo?”

“Jemma!” Bobbi shouts over the loud music behind here. “I need you to get down here right now.” 

“Bobbi, I told you I’m not in the mood,” Jemma whines. She’s mourning. She’s grieving and recovering from the injuries she sustained in the accident, and the very last thing she wants to do is paste on a plastic smile. It’s been days since she’s even left her bedroom. 

“It’s not about that,” Bobbi tells her as delicately as possible in her booming tone. “It’s Fitz. He’s–he’s in a bad way.” 

“Where are you?” Jemma asks, snapping up in bed. She grimaces, her fractured clavicle created a shooting pain at the sudden movement. “I’m taking Melinda’s SUV, it’s more tinted than my car.” 

Bobbi gives her the address, some house on the West Side and Jemma races through the mostly-empty streets until she screeches to a halt in front of the building. She’d hardly paused to change out of her pajamas and into jeans, leaving her ratty t-shirt on in lieu of wrestling out of it in her condition. 

Jemma walks straight in through the door, the pulsing lights practically blinding her. “Where’s Bobbi Morse?” Jemma barks at a stick-thin model she vaguely recognizes from Bobbi’s shoots. 

The girl shrugs and Jemma resists the urge to yank on her teeny wrist and tug her back with another demand. She weaves her way through the crowd of insanely beautiful folks, all of whom are incredibly glassy-eyed and weak looking, bopping absently to the music. 

“Jemma!” 

She looks up and finds her tall blonde friend carving through the crowd toward her. Bobbi delicately takes her arm and leads her to a back room, swinging the door open wordlessly. Jemma gasps at the sight of him, sweaty and disheveled, leaned over on a bed. 

“’Mma.” 

“Fitz,” she breathes. “Fitz, what have you done?” 

His head lolls forward. “I can’t feel it now.” 

Jemma looks up at Bobbi with fire in her eyes. “What the hell did you let him do?” 

Bobbi raises her hands defensively. “I didn’t even know he was here. I came with a friend from a shoot I went on today. I found him like this.” 

A lump forms in her throat as she notices the white powder on the desk next to him. 

“It can’t be coke,” Bobbi says, reading her thoughts. “He’d be wired.” 

“Then what do you think it was?” 

Bobbi worries her lip between her teeth. “Pain meds, maybe? Some of these girls grind up Oxy and cut it with other shit like Valium and then they do a line of coke to bump back up.” 

“That’d be good,” Fitz slurs. “We should do that one, Jemma.” 

“Absolutely not.” 

Her hands find his face, tugging him up to look at her. The look he always gets when he sees her isn’t there, and it turns her stomach. The light has gone out in his eyes completely. 

“I just miss her,” Fitz whimpers. “Jemma, I miss her. I don’t know what i’m supposed to do now. She was–my fault.” 

“Hey, no,” Jemma soothes. “No, not your fault. But hey, Fitz, I need you to come home with me, alright? And we’ll figure this all out in the morning.” 

“I can stay with you?” 

“Of course you can.” 

“You’re not mad?” 

She licks her lips and looks away. “Of course I’m mad, Fitz. I’m mad about a lot of things right now but I’m not…we’re going to be fine, you and me. I just need you to stop it with this stuff, okay?” 

“I promise,” he mumbles, but she knows it means nothing. He promised the same thing a few nights ago, when Phil had called her, concerned he had alcohol poisoning. 

In the 19 days since Penny’s death, he’s been nothing short of an absolute trainwreck. While Jemma has crawled into a pit of blankets, not wanting to eat or drink anything, practically silent except when necessary–Fitz has spent all of his time out, surrounded by people and music and substances. Anything to dull the ache. 

Jemma puts his arm around her shoulders and attempts to lift him off of the bed, but the pressure on her collarbone is too much and she cries out in pain. Bobbi rushes to her immediately and even drug-addled Fitz stumbles to his feet. 

“Jemma!” he slurs. “Oh no, baby girl, are you alright?” 

She huffs at his obnoxious term of endearment and nods through gritted teeth. “Bob?” 

“On it.”

Bobbi practically drags him to Jemma’s car, riding home with them and helping Jemma get Fitz upstairs. Bobbi hesitates in the hallway, easily supporting a half-unconscious Fitz, and Jemma points at her bedroom. 

“Put him with me,” Jemma sighs tiredly. “I want to be next to him, just in case.” 

“I’m going to sleep in the guest room,” Bobbi decides. “In case you need anything. You’re not in any state to be taking care of him.” 

Jemma nods gratefully. “Thank you.” 

Bobbi retreats and Jemma turns her attentions to Fitz, lying on his side facing her. She combs her fingers through his curls and watches as his face crumbles. “Jemma. I’m scared.” 

The tears she’s been holding back all day spill onto her cheeks, fingers trembling as she wipes his away. “I know, Fitz. I am too.” 

“Don’t leave me. Please.” 

“I won’t.” 

“People always leave,” he whispers. “My dad, then Penny–” 

“Shh, Fitz. It’s alright. Try to sleep now.” 

He does, slowly, but she can’t. She watches him, and as the sun rises through the window behind him, she watches that too. 

It’s only been nineteen days but she doesn’t know how much more of this pain she can live with. Her eyes drift back to Fitz, nose crinkling at his stale stench of sweat and booze. 

She’s even less sure how much more he can endure. That scares her more than anything. 


	154. Semi-Charmed Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: FitzSimmons + “my house is next to yours and your bedroom window is facing mine and you have caught me dancing to awkward 90′s songs pls don’t tell anyone”

The narrow city street means that, at night time, she can always see into her neighbors’ apartments. It makes her rather uncomfortable, so she tends to shut her own blinds, given that they can see her too. 

Only tonight, she’s cracked open a celebratory bottle of wine because she’s finally, _finally_  got the promotion she’s been working her ass off towards for what feels like forever. Terrifying, hard-ass, incredibly difficult to please Melinda freaking May noticed her work and promoted her. 

It’s a cause certainly worth celebrating, and she’s so wrapped up in her excitement that she hasn’t even considered her visibility. 

“I WANT SOMETHING ELSE TO GET ME THROUGH THIS!” she shouts, dancing wildly. She hops up onto her coffee table, swishing her hair back and forth as she tries to keep up with Third Eye Blind’s rapid singing. 

She’s long ago foregone her jeans, and she wriggles awkwardly on her precarious stage. 

“HOW DO I GET BACK THERE TO THE PLACE WHERE I FELL ASLEEP INSIDE YOU!” 

She hops back off, whooping and hollering. She’s more out of shape than originally anticipated, and she resorts to a half-hearted running man, followed by a sad approximation of The Carlton. 

It’s only when the song is over that she notices. The cute guy from across the street, who she sometimes bumps into on the corner, has his window open too. And he’s smirking at her. 

Without a loud squeal, she tugs on her blinds–only for them to get stuck, half-up and half-down. It must be in her imagination, but she swears she hears him laughing. 

*** 

As her luck would have it, she bumps into him the next morning at a nearby crosswalk. 

“So, big Third Eye Blind fan?” he teases.Her face heats up, not helped by the pounding of her white wine headache. 

“Ah. Could you maybe take that little performance to your grave?” she asks sheepishly. “I just got a big promotion and, well–” 

“You just had to have a dance party,” he shrugs good-naturedly. “I get it. I’ll make you a deal.” 

She puffs out a breath. “And what’s that?” 

“Let me buy you a tea,” he offers. Now he’s the one that’s blushing. Despite her hazy brain, she immediately perks up at the prospect. “You can tell me about your promotion. And then I can not tell anyone, ever, that you’re planning on taking over for Third Eye Blind’s frontman on their next tour?” 

“Do they still tour?” Jemma asks, wrinkling her nose. He shoots her a look and she laughs. “Oh. Right. You have a deal.” 

“Great,” he grins, shoulders relaxing significantly. “I’m Fitz, by the way.” 

“Jemma,” she introduces, following him to the Starbucks across the street. 

(Three years later, no one understands why their first dance as a married couple is to Semi-Charmed Kind of Life. Fitz promises he still won’t tell, and he doesn’t). 


	155. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angsty Hive Meets FitzSimmons AU Fic

Hive tilts his head, analyzing Fitz carefully. He kneels down to stare at the engineer dead in the eyes. Fitz jerks against the restraints on his hands, and Jemma feels completely powerless behind the glass that Hive–and Daisy, but she knows she can’t fault her friend for this–have kept her behind.

“Does she still make that little noise?” Hive taunts. “If you kiss her right underneath–” 

“Shut up,” Fitz spits. “Don’t talk about her.” 

Jemma screws her eyes shut and sucks in shallow little breaths. Hive had the combined knowledge of Ward and Will–enough to know that Jemma’s greatest weakness was not her own pain or agony, but rather Fitz’s. 

Hive wants her help with this Kree experiment, and he knows the only way to make her do it. As Fitz had been torn away from her, he’d made her promise that they would be like Bobbi and Hunter. That they would sell each other out before they let the world burn. 

But watching this, now, before Hive has even laid a finger on him–well, Jemma feels quite ready for a can of gasoline and some matches. 

“It’s for your own good,” Daisy tells her quietly. “You’ll see. You’ll all see. If you would just understand, you can come with us. Be part of this.” 

Jemma spares a glance at her friend, eyes full of pity. “Oh, Daisy. When you wake up–we’ll still be here for you. I hope you know that.” 

Daisy tilts her head to the side, nearly identical to Hive’s earlier movement, and it sends a shiver down Jemma’s spine. “You don’t understand. I’m awake now. More awake then I’ve ever been.” 

Sighing, Jemma turns her attention back to the spectacle in front of her. “If I’d never died, she never would have wound up with you. You must know that.” 

Fitz gulps, squaring his shoulders and clenching his jaw. His face is covered in bruises, little slices adorning his forearms. Jemma’s heart twists and she presses a palm to the glass. He can’t hear her, but she hopes he can see her. She steps as close as she can, leaning her forehead against the glass. Her breath creates a hazy fog over the clear surface. 

“Of course I do,” Fitz says harshly. “If you think this is going to make her agree to help you, then you never knew the first thing about her. Either of you.” 

Jemma swells with pride at his defiance while simultaneously deflating at the notion that Fitz still, even now, thinks he could ever be her second choice. Suddenly Daisy grabs onto her arms, pushing her roughly through the doors and into the room with Hive and Fitz. Jemma stands cautiously, teetering on the edge of dashing toward Fitz. When Hive and Daisy exchange a look and then a creepy, synchronized nod, Jemma darts for him, falling to her knees in front of him. 

“Fitz. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he tells her gruffly. He leans in closer. “Just get yourself out of here, Jemma. It’s you they want.” 

“Which is why I can’t leave you here,” she reasons. “Fitz, they’ll kill you.” 

“They’ll kill us both,” he croaks. She leans up to grab at his face, gingerly touching the bruise on his cheekbone. He tries for a smile, a lopsided grimace the best he can do. “These past few weeks have been the best of my life. If this is how it ends…I can be alright with that.” 

“Jemma said something similar to me, once,” Hive cuts in. Fitz visiibly flinches. “Remember, Professor?” 

Jemma stands slowly, turning to face him with a burning in her veins. Gideon Malick thought he had seen feral. 

“Defeat and love are two very different things. You didn’t know me very well,” Jemma observes coolly. “Will or Ward. Because I don’t think either of you ever really understood what I’m capable of.” 

“How’s that?” Hive asks, lip curling in distaste. 

Jemma huffs out a laugh. “All the knowledge in the world and you’re still the king idiot.” 

And then she lunges forward, stabbing him with the syringe hidden up her sleeve. Daisy quakes her, hard, into the opposite wall as Hive falls to the ground. 

“NO!” Daisy screams. She rushes to Hive’s side, tugging his head into her lap as his body slowly begins to deteroriate into the state it had been when it belong to Grant Ward. His breath rattles loudly and Daisy looks up at Jemma, crumpled on the ground. “What did you do?!” 

And then she quakes her, again and again. Jemma can hardly get enough air in her lungs to breathe, but all she can hear is Fitz, screaming. Over and over again, screaming her name. 

The doors burst open. Daisy falls back as Hive finally and truly dies, and Mack cuts Fitz from his restraints. Fitz falls forward and dashes for her as Lincoln looks over Daisy for injuries. 

“I need help!” Fitz calls out. “Lincoln, HELP!” 

The team doctor wrenches himself away from a shaking, sobbing Daisy, passing her over to Coulson. He strides over to where Fitz lightly slaps the side of Jemma’s face.

“C’mon, Jemma,” he murmurs. “Jemma, please, c’mon, come back to me. Come back to me.” 

Her eyes flutter open, but not for long. “These last few weeks,” she rasps out. “Have been. The best. Thing. That’s ever happened. To me.” 

“Jemma, shh–” 

“I’m alright with it,” she assures him. 

“Fix it!” Fitz barks at Lincoln. “Fix it!” 

Lincoln shoves him forcefully out of the way and shouts for YoYo to bring him his supplies. She snaps away and brings them in a heartbeat. While Lincoln works, Fitz tries his best to hold it together, gasping for breath and staring across the room at Daisy, his broken friend. 

“Jemma,” he sees Daisy mouth. “No. No. No.” 

He knows it wasn’t really her, but he surges forward onto his feet despite his weakness. “YOU DID THIS!” 

Mack moves quickly, pulling him back and yanking him away from Daisy. 

“IF SHE DIES I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU.” 

“Neither will she,” May reminds him, firmly but quietly. She places a hand on his arm and shakes her head. He coughs out a dry sob and wrenches himself from Mack’s grip, pacing back with his hands in his hair as he waits for any sign of life from Jemma’s corner.

Off to the side, Grant Ward’s corpse serves as a harrowing warning of revenge. Fitz collapses into the chair he’d spent an entire day tied to and buries his face in his hands. 

_Defeat and love are two very different things_

He finally understands. Maybe too late. 


	156. Green Eyed Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for some folks who wanted to see a Jealous!Jemma

“I’ve brought in a consultant,” Coulson announces loudly as he stalks into the lab. May follows alongside him, hiding the new guest. “Highly respected from Sci-Ops, moved to the private sector. I think you may have worked with her before.” 

He steps aside and gestures to her in introduction. She’s pretty, around Fitz and Jemma’s age, with long blonde hair and a bright smile. Jemma immediately tenses, and Fitz’s hands move into the air awkwardly. 

“Oh. Monica. Hi.” 

“Hello, Fitz,” she smiles. “Dr. Simmons. I understand that there’s a lot for me to get up to speed on.” 

Jemma swallows hard and smiles, but it’s brittle. “There really is, Dr. Kinney. Follow me, please.” 

Monica Kinney follows after Jemma to the computer station, and Lincoln raises his eyebrows in Fitz’s direction, jerking his head between the two women bowed over a screen. Fitz grimaces. 

“Ah, Monica is…an old girlfriend of mine. From Sci-Ops.” 

“Ah,” Lincoln grins. “I see. Well, my friend, looks like it’s her turn.” 

He claps Fitz on the shoulder, leaving him blinking in confusion behind him. “Her turn for what?” 

Lincoln doesn’t hear him, joining in to the conversation with Monica and Jemma. Fitz scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably, stuck in the same room with Monica Kinney for the first time since their rather explosive breakup five years ago. 

*** 

“So,” Jemma says primly that night, turning down the covers of his bed. “Monica was quite a surprise, wasn’t she?” 

“Yeah,” Fitz agrees, unbuttoning his shirt. “Well, I mean–she’s brilliant, of course, so it makes sense Coulson would call her in.” 

Jemma scoffs. “Brilliant? Really? Then why is it that she couldn’t figure out the first thing about Chitauri biology in the aftermath of New York, and I was the one doing all of the work–” 

“Hey,” Fitz interrupts. “You always liked Monica.” 

“Liked her?” Jemma gasps. “You’ve got to be kidding me. The way she was always tittering about our lab, giggling at your _worst_ jokes…” 

“Has it ever occurred to you that some people might actually find those jokes funny?” Fitz yelps defensively. 

“…and she was always in the way at the apartment, trying to cook you pancakes in the morning…” 

“I love pancakes, she knew that.” 

“She made them wrong,” Jemma hisses. She practically throws herself into bed, violently fluffing the pillow behind her head. “And she would parade around in your shorts like you were some kind of…sex trophy! I never liked her then and I don’t like her here now.” 

Fitz leans back against the dresser in his vest top, watching her carefully. “Wait. You didn’t like Monica in the same way that I didn’t like Milton.” 

“Yes, and?” 

He tries to bite back his grin, but he isn’t successful. He climbs onto the bed, positioning himself over her to kiss her lightly. 

“We were jealous, Jemma. Guess we just didn’t get it till now.” 

Jemma sighs, running one hand up his bare arm. “I suppose you’re right. But I didn’t like the way she was looking at you today.” 

“Would it make you feel better to parade around in my shorts?” he suggests teasingly. “Then she’ll know who’s currently in possession of the sex trophy.” 

Jemma can’t help but laugh, flopping him over onto his back to kiss him. “Yeah, alright. That sounds fine to me.” 


	157. Waking Up (Sequel to Sacrifice)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to the angsty FitzSimmons/Hive ficlet.

“Well this is deja vu,” a quiet voice says, breaking the complete silence filling the containment pod. Fitz looks up in shock at Bobbi’s voice. He stares at her for a long moment, completely stunned. “We’re off the grid but the Director knows where to find us. We…heard. About Daisy. And Simmons.” 

“I can’t lose her,” Fitz eventually croaks. Bobbi is the only person he’s ever really been vulnerable with, aside from the unconscious woman in the bed beside him. Bobbi had seen him at his lowest lows–and he’d seen her at hers. They’d dragged each other out, claw marks on the side of an endless well of self-pity, doubt, and regret. He’d thought she was gone for good. 

He’s glad to see her. Thrilled, even. But he can’t smile. Not until Jemma wakes up. 

“Hunter is with Mack,” Bobbi says gently. “But I think he could probably tell you a thing or two about this feeling.” 

Fitz remembers. He knows what Hunter was like, followed him into the hallway as Bobbi was rushed into surgery by Jemma and the others on the med team. He’d watched Hunter pummel the brick walls of the Playground, heard the screaming. He knows that Hunter knows exactly how he feels. Which is why Bobbi, and not Hunter, is who he wants to be near. 

“She was trying to save me.” 

“Of course she was,” Bobbi scoffs. “She’s been trying to save you since she left for Hydra. You were just too dumb to notice.” 

He chuckles dryly and adjusts his sweaty palm against Jemma’s hand. “Do you two ever think about just…giving it up? Moving away to a quiet cottage or something?” 

Bobbi laughs loudly, leaning against the doorway. “I don’t think the words ‘quiet’ and Hunter can ever be used in the same sentence. But after all of this? Yeah, we talked about it. We thought about assuming new identities, settling down somewhere nice. I’ve always wanted a house with a red door. But it’s not who we are. This–the bullets and the bruises and the blood? It’s in our bones.” 

“What if you could get it out?” 

Bobbi chews on her lip for a moment before responding. “I wouldn’t. But you could. Both of you. And I think you could be happy.” 

“We are happy.” 

“You’ll never be fully happy,” Bobbi tells him sagely. “You can’t be, not while you’re worrying about each other like this. Look, I’m not saying you should leave SHIELD the second she wakes up–and she will wake up, Fitz–but I think it’s a conversation you should have. Before it’s second nature to you. Before you can’t stop running.” 

She steps closer and hugs him from behind, bending awkwardly to wrap her arms around his shoulder. She gives him a little squeeze. 

“I’m going to talk to May. I’ll try and stop by before we head out again, alright?” 

He nods wordlessly, grateful for her comfort and her words, and watches her go before turning his attention back to Jemma. She’s pale against the white sheets, one side of her face bruised purple from the force of Daisy’s powers. 

And it’s like all at once she’s waking up, a guttural groan spilling from her lips. 

“Fitz,” she manages. “Fitz, are you ok–” 

“If you ask me if I’m okay right now, I swear,” he jokes, throat tight with the tears that threaten to spill from his eyes. He surges forward to kiss her forehead, bending down to quickly kiss her lips as well. “I’m fine. You did it. You did it like a damn fool, but–” 

“A damn fool for you,” she murmurs, wiggling her fingers weakly under his hand. “He had you. He was going to hurt you. There was no other choice I could make.” 

“There was.” 

“No,” she insists. “There wasn’t.” 

He watches her, awestruck, and finally settles on running one hand soothingly over her scalp. Her eyes shut in contentment, a little purr resonating from the back of her throat, and he smiles. 

“Hey, Jemma. What do you think about a trip to Perthshire soon?” 

She doesn’t open her eyes, but her lips quirk up in a pleased little smirk. “Can we leave tomorrow?” 

He chuckles, smile blooming over his features. “Not until you get the all clear from Lincoln. But–I figured we could start.” 

He doesn’t need to tell her what he wants to start. She turns her head with a wince, opening her eyes to look at him. He can see it that she knows, the twinkle in her hazy eyes lighting up. 

“I think that’s a great idea,” she tells him breathlessly. “Let’s start.” 


	158. Photographer AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is also on my extension list.

Her knee bounces anxiously as she waits for him to enter the coffee shop. It’s a long shot that he’ll even be here, but this is wear she photographed him last time, and she has to ask his permission to use the picture. 

She’d been minding her own business, really, just enjoying a cup of tea on her way to shoot some high school senior’s graduation photos, when she’d spotted him out of the corner of her eye. His arms were covered in splotches of blue ink, all the way up to the rolled-up sleeves at his elbows. Several notebooks were spread out in front of him–scrawled writing and drawings, it looked like. 

But there was something about the curve of his jaw-line, the look in his eye–something about him had called out to her, so she’d lifted her camera to her eye and snapped a few candid photos of him as he worked. Her favorite had been one with a hand shoved into his unruly hair, brow furrowed in frustration and pouting. 

Her friend Skye had agreed–this was by far the best portrait she’d taken. She had some amazing pictures of Skye, illuminated in the middle of the night by her many computer screens. Gorgeous shots of Hunter through the smoke of his cigarette, leaning against a back alley with his tattoos peeking out beneath his henley. Bobbi and her punching bag, red hand-wraps matching red-painted nails. 

But this? This portrait was different. And she couldn’t use it–not with good conscience anyway, in her gallery showing tonight. It’s her last change to find him and ask him. 

And at 11:04 a.m., right around the time she saw him for the first time, he enters the shop. She jumps up eagerly before immediately sitting back down. She should really let him settle in first. 

As soon as he slides into a chair, she jumps up and races toward him. He looks up in surprise. 

“Oh. Were you sitting here?” he asks. She shakes her head, feeling suddenly mute, because she hadn’t expected him to be Scottish or for his eyes on her to make her feel so inexplicably warm.   


“No. No, I actually–well I needed to ask you a question.”   


He chews on his lip. “Is this about the thing at the planetarium? Because I swear, I was there on official business–” 

She cuts him off. She’d love to know exactly what this incident was about, but the gallery owner needs her final list of portraits by 11:30 and she’s running out of time. She jiggles her leather camera bag–a Christmas gift from Skye–and dives right in. 

“I’m a photographer. My name is Jemma Simmons, and I’m having a showing of portraits at The Playground, over on 12th. But the thing is, I took your picture a few weeks ago, when you were here. It’s–it’s one of my best portraits, and I know since you’re not famous or anything I technically don’t need rights to your likeness but I really don’t feel like i can use it if–”   


“You took my picture without telling me?” he asks, brow scrunching together. Her heart clenches in her chest, stomach swooping with disappointment.   


“Well…yes.”   


“But…me? Really?”   


And that’s when she realizes. He’s not offended, just surprised. He obviously doesn’t see himself through the same lens that she does, and it heartens her. “You should come tonight. See it on the wall. Because honestly….you,” she says, realizing she doesn’t know his name, “you are the best of all of my shots.” 

He shifts in his chair thoughtfully, scratching behind one ear and smudging ink on the skin of his neck. She has the strange desire to gently run her thumb along the spot. “Yeah. Yeah okay. What time?” 

She beams at him, letting him know the showing is at 7:00 and there will be appetizers and an open bar. And then before she can do anything stupid, she turns to leave. 

“Fitz,” he calls out. She turns around in confusion. “Me. I’m–I’m Fitz.”   


“Fitz,” she repeats with a little nod and a smile. “Thank you, Fitz.”   


*** 

She brushes the chiffon of her dress nervously as she approaches him, fingers clenched around the stem of her glass of red wine. He’s standing in front of a blown-up portrait of himself, the one with his hand in his hair. 

“Wow,” he says to her, not even glancing in her direction. “You–that’s me.”   


“It is,” she observes with a wry smile. “So what do you think?”   


He raises his eyebrows, opens his mouth, and then shuts it again. After a beat, he seems to find his words. “I’m an astronomer.” 

It’s not what she expected him to say, but she does her best to roll with it. “Oh?” 

“Yeah. So you know I–well, there’s some amount of art to what I do. Mapping out constellations, galaxies, all of that. Teaching lectures about the mythology of the stars. But I’d never–I don’t think I really saw the art in it. Not until now.”   


Her cheeks flush pink and she takes a sip of wine to keep herself from grabbing him around the neck and kissing him full on the mouth. He’s a stranger, and assault is frowned upon. 

“That explains the planetarium, then,” she laughs. He finally looks over at her, blue eyes bright and off-set against the soft grey of his shirt.   


“Yeah, something like that,” he grins. “All of these people in these pictures, it’s like you–you found the art inside of who they are and what they do and you just yanked it right out. Put on a page.”   


“Something like that,” she giggles. “Well, Bobbi, the boxer–she was my college roommate, and she was attacked. She became an activist, started fighting–and I think you can kind of see the admiration I have for her and her strength in that shot. And Skye, she’s been a dear friend of mine for so long now. She can hack into anything. But I wanted to show her isolation, behind all the screens, lit up in that blue that I associate with her so much. Hunter is the trouble maker but he’s also protective and kind and his tattoos are for two of his friends he lost in an accident. I wanted to make sure those were peaking through–”   


“And then there’s me,” Fitz says as she trails off. “Some guy you’d never spoken to, just trying to design a better telescope.”   


“You seemed like–well, you were trying to reach something. You were trying to see something, maybe something no one had seen before. And you couldn’t find the words to explain,” she says, stepping closer to the portrait. He follows, his shoulder brushing against hers.   


“That’s exactly what it was,” he breathes. “And you got that all. In one photo. Of a stranger.”   


They stand in silence for a long moment, just looking at the portrait of him. 

“Alright, I can only look at my face for so long,” he jokes. “Now I’ve realized that one of my eyes is significantly larger than the other and I will never be able to forget it.”   


She laughs and turns away, Fitz following her toward one of the little tables with food on it. “I’m starving. What kind of food is this, doll food?” 

Fitz laughs, popping a mini quiche into his mouth. After he swallows, he turns to her rather nervously. “I know a really good place with real human food not from here. They’re open late. When this is over would you maybe wanna…get some dinner with me?” 

“I’d love to,” she grins. “I promise not to bring my camera.”   


He shrugs with a pleased smile. “I wouldn’t mind. 


	159. The One Where Daisy Finds Out

They’ve been trying hard. Really hard, Daisy thinks, almost too hard. Ever since she _came back,_ as everyone has been calling it. If she thought losing her parents was hard? That has nothing on the fact that she tried to kill all of the people closest to her. 

But Fitz and Jemma are trying even harder than the rest, which is why she’s let them drag her into the kitchen. Apparently pancakes fix everything, according to Fitz, and that’s what he and Jemma are trying to do now–make pancakes. Well, and fix everything, but Daisy is sure that’s not possible. 

“No, Fitz!” Jemma scolds, slapping his hand away. “That’s too much oil.” 

“No it isn’t!” he argues back, desperately trying to pour the liquid into the batter. “You’ve obviously forgotten that in the kitchen, _I’m_ the chemist.” 

Jemma scoffs and rolls her eyes. She pegs Daisy with a pointed stare. “Fitz envies himself a regular Iron Chef, you know.” 

Daisy manages a small smile. They need this. They need to see her try. They need to see her improve, even if her soul is a heavy weight on her bones. She owes them this. “Simmons makes your sandwiches, Fitz.” 

He opens his mouth to argue and Jemma grins, pleased with her victory. His mouth snaps shut again and Jemma does a little shimmy of excitement. 

“Ha!” she boasts, looking quite self-satisfied. Daisy watches her facial expressions carefully. Sure, she hadn’t had a chance to spend much time with Jemma even _before_  Daisy….left, but there’s something different. Something light. 

Then Fitz reaches over and pinches at Jemma’s hip easily. “Still, you know my batter is better than yours. You’ve admitted it before.” 

The gears in Daisy’s head begin to spin. Last she’d really seen them, they had been tentatively rebuilding a friendship but this–well, this is even beyond the kind of boundary-less relationship she’d first encountered between them on the Bus. 

“I was under duress,” Jemma teases haughtily. And then she does it. 

She leans up, presses a quick kiss to Fitz’s cheekbone, and spins around him to grab an egg. 

“Oh my god!” Daisy exclaims, and this time she doesn’t even have to fight to smile. “You guys are totally doing it!” 

Jemma drops the egg. It cracks, splattering on the ground. Fitz gets that look, the one he always got in a moment of panic in the early days of their friendship, and Jemma shifts uncomfortably. 

“Doing…what?” Jemma asks, voice cracking. “Making pancakes? Because we are…certainly doing…that.” 

It’s the first time she’s laughed in what feels like ages, but the giggle bubbles up in her throat and spills out of her mouth before she can make herself feel guilty for her own joy. “Simmons! I thought you didn’t do bad girl shenanigans.” 

“I don’t!” Jemma denies quickly. Fitz, on the other hand, spins around quite obviously to avoid Daisy’s eyes. “It’s…well, um…it’s really that–” 

“I can’t believe it,” Daisy says, leaning back in her stool. The smile just won’t slide off of her face. Her brain tells her she doesn’t deserve to smile, but her heart doesn’t seem to get the memo. “I’m….wow. I’m so happy for you guys.” 

Jemma’s shoulders loosen and Fitz finally turns back around. “Really?” Jemma asks tentatively. “I know things with…well, between you and Lincoln have been…” 

She trails off, and Daisy briefly feels the stab of guilt again. She shakes her head, trying to brush off Jemma’s concern. “Are you kidding me? I’ve been waiting for this for like, ever. So do you guys do like, freaky science stuff?” 

“Daisy!” Jemma gasps. Fitz groans loudly, palming at his eyes. 

“I thought we’d avoided this with Hunter being gone,” he moans. 

“Someone has to take up his noble pursuit,” Daisy teases. “Do you call it your _hardware_?” 

The throwback to their first mission has them all bursting into laughter, and for this brief, fleeting second, Daisy can be _Skye_ again. A misfit hacker, finally in her proper place amongst a misfit team of broken toys. The socially awkward geniuses. The man returned from the dead. The Cavalry. The only super power at her disposal her brain and her fingers, the only way she could hurt her friends being her secret communications with Miles. 

Those days are gone. But for this moment, they’re back again. And she’s not quite ready to let them go just yet, so she leans forward with one raised eyebrow and a smirk. Just like the Cage, a thousand lifetimes ago. 

“Do you tell him what a nice _head_ he has–” 

Fitz chokes so hard on his own spit that Jemma briefly contemplates CPR. Daisy begins laughing again, and even though Jemma’s entire body is burning with mortification, a lightness overcomes her. For the first time since WARD IS HYDRA was carved into that painting in Providence, they’re them again, all three of them. 

Young. Alive. Hopeful. 

“I do like men my height but heavier than me,” Jemma attempts to purr. It’s a mess, a spluttered out laugh. Sweet Fitz just dodges her languid stroking of his head. 

“Hey! What the hell is going on?!” he demands.

Daisy and Jemma grin at each other over the counter. Daisy reaches over and grabs the little cup of oil that Fitz had poured and dumps it down the sink. He yelps in protest and Daisy just shrugs.

“It’s bad girl shenanigans, Fitz. Keep up.” 


	160. She's Amazing (Hollywood AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Jemma and Bobbi became friends in the Hollywood AU

Jemma stands off to the side, fiddling with the clasp on her clutch. She’s not accustomed to attending events without Fitz, but an Influential Women In Hollywood luncheon had hardly been the type of place to bring him. She smiles slightly–the delicate food being passed around would have certainly been ridiculed by her best friend. 

She’s nineteen and still new to this. Sure, she has an Oscar under her belt and rumors of another one just around the corner, but that means nothing in a group of people this glitzy. She’s not sure why she’s even here. Certainly, she doesn’t belong. 

“You know they don’t card,” a voice says suddenly from behind her. Jemma jumps, spinning around to face Bobbi Morse. It’s a bit like staring into the sun, not only because she’s so tall but because she’s literally a _supermodel._  “These things take time to get used to. But don’t worry. You’ll be fine.” 

Jemma feels a bit of tension release from her shoulders. After all, Bobbi isn’t much older than herself–she’s a fresh-faced 21 year-old, gracing couture runways at 18 years old at Fashion Week in Paris. 

“Really?” Jemma asks tentatively. “Because earlier I tried talking to Natasha Romanoff, and well–” 

Bobbi laughs lightly. “Oh, well that was your first problem. Natasha’s head is always three steps ahead of any given conversation. It’s not that she’s a bitch or anything, just busier than most of us. It’s basically her job to make sure that we all look like upstanding citizens.” 

Bobbi gestures around vaguely with her hand that’s not clutching a flute of champagne. Jemma licks her lips and nods. “That…well, I suppose that makes sense. How do I–what do I–I asked Peggy Carter to take a photo with me when I first got here. She was kind but everyone around us started laughing, and–” 

Bobbi grins, leaning forward conspiratorially. “I’ll tell you what, kid. Stick with me and you’ll be just fine.” 

So Jemma does. Bobbi navigates the room with ease. The actresses who glare at her or speak coldly to her receive broad smiles and syrupy sweetness in response. Most people seem to like her, though, and Jemma is honestly fairly surprised by the assured way that Bobbi speaks about issues that she herself feels entirely unprepared to tackle. After listening to Bobbi and Wanda Maximoff engage in a lengthy conversation about the negative impacts of photoshop on lingerie models, such as Bobbi herself, Jemma finally decides that maybe she can chime in, after all. 

When they’re seated, Bobbi is at a table separate from hers. She’s with what Jemma internally categorizes as the Beauty Standard People. After all, they’ve all been invited here for their representations or advocacy in certain fields. 

Jemma herself is seated with a group of actresses, and when one of them begins talking about the influence that comes with fame, Jemma spares a quick glance over at Bobbi. The model’s gaze is already on her, and she gives her an encouraging little nod. Taking a deep breath, Jemma squares her shoulders and smooths out the lines of her aqua tea dress. 

“I think we have a responsibility,” she says, a bit weakly at first. She clears her throat as the table goes quiet to listen to her and the cadence of her voice strengthens. “By accepting this type of career, we’ve volunteered ourselves to be put out there as an example for others and especially, I think, for young women. The most common fanmail I receive is from teenage girls, telling me that I’ve encouraged them or inspired them or made them feel less alone. And I think if we’re not showing female characters who are flawed and vulnerable and strong well….well, then we’re not really showing women at all.” 

Peggy Carter beams at her from across the table, a little twinkle in her eye. “It appears my countrywoman has been offered a few too many roles from comic books.” 

Wanda Maximoff laughs. Jemma’s heart finally stops racing and she finds herself easing into the comfort of the conversation. 

“Yes! Why would I play the love interest of a man played by _Tony Stark_?” Jemma asks in disbelief. “He’s nearly the same age as my _father._ ” 

Later that afternoon, as she waits for her car, an arm slides around her shoulders and Jemma looks up at Bobbi’s smirk. “You did good in there.” 

“Thank you,” Jemma breathes. “I–well, our little talk really helped.” 

Bobbi hands her a slip of paper with a phone number scrawled on it. “Call me sometime. Let’s get lunch or drinks or something.” 

The valet pulls up to the front and Bobbi moves toward her car, a sporty black Audi. She slinks off with the graceful movements that only a person fully in control of their body is capable of. 

“Oh, and Jemma? Burn that after you put it in your phone.” 

Then she winks and speeds off, away from the Beverly Hills Hotel. Over dinner that night, Fitz points out that photos of she and Bobbi had appeared on a tabloid site. 

“So, what’s she like?” Fitz asks. “I heard she’s terrifying.” 

Jemma shakes her head rapidly, hair flying around her face. “No. No. She’s…amazing.” 


	161. Remnants (Huntingbird)

_Ring. Ring. Ring. Click._

_“Hi, you’ve reached Barbie! Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks!”_

She sounds perky on the message but he’d watched her record it with gritted teeth. Her current alias–Barbie Lance–is not exactly what you’d call Bobbi’s _type_. 

But for the past few weeks they’ve been safe, living in a condo that belongs to her dead grandmother–technically, he supposes, it belongs to Bobbi’s parents, now–and pretending to be a newlywed couple who purchased it from the Morses. 

He tries again. 

_Ring. Ring. Ring. Click._

_“Hi, you’ve reached Barbie! Leave me–”_

He hangs up his phone and tosses it angrily onto the front seat of the modest Honda Civic he’s been driving for the last few weeks. They’d needed a way to come up with money, so they’ve been constantly on the move, forging new identities and working day-jobs.

Right now, Bobbi is an assistant at a law firm. Well, Barbie Lance is. And Hunter–Rick Lance–is working at a tire shop. He’d had to work late tonight, when a teenage girl had come to the shop in tears with her car on a tow-truck. She was blonde with big brown eyes, hardly sixteen and desperate for help. 

If he’s perfectly honest, he’d softened under her pleas because she looked a bit like he’d always imagined his and Bobbi’s daughter, had they ever gotten around to it. He very much doubts they’ll get around to it now. It’s not so much that the Russian government is after them (he’s pretty sure the Russians really don’t care about he and Bobbi anymore). It’s that their pictures have now been circulated all over the world, their many covers broken. The people they’d wronged (Hunter) and the people they’d taken down (Bobbi) started popping out of the woodwork left and right. 

His heart rate picks up the closer he gets to the condo. This time, there is no stoic may in the pilot’s seat. The Franny’s Saloon keychain is attached to the key in the ignition, so he can’t spin it for comfort. 

He is terrified, deep down in his bones, that he’s about to walk in on his wife–ex-wife, wife, whatever–tied to a chair with a gun at her back. 

He pulls into the driveway, sliding in next to Bobbi’s red Volkswagen Bug, and takes a moment to steady himself before clicking open the glove compartment and sliding the pistol into his hand. He clicks off the safety and exits the vehicle, kicking the door shut and not bothering to lock it. 

When he reaches the front door, it’s locked. That doesn’t mean much. He unlocks it with his free hand and eases himself through the foyer. Music plays from the kitchen. It’s not unusual for Bobbi to put on music while she cooks. They take turns making dinner. They’re actually not half bad at it, between the two of them. 

Still, he holds the gun tightly in his grip and looks for a sign of struggle. There isn’t one, and he knows for a fact his Bob would have put up a hell of a struggle. 

He swings into the kitchen with his gun drawn in front of him. Bobbi looks up from the sauce she’s stirring and just–stares at him. She doesn’t even flinch. 

“Hunter,” she drawls, sounding bored with him. “What the hell are you doing?” 

The gun clatters to the floor and he moves around the island in the kitchen, grabbing her into a fierce embrace. She stills in his arms before her arms finally come up to wrap around him. 

“Hunter?” she asks tentatively, her voice soft in that way that’s only ever for him. “Are you okay? Did something happen to you?”

He shakes his head. “No. No, I’m fine.” 

He hates how choked he sounds. She pulls back, arms still around his neck, to stare at him. She’s shrewd as ever. If anything, being on the run had simply heightened her senses. 

“I was worried when you didn’t come home on time,” Bobbi says gently. “But I called down to the shop and your boss said he was staying but you were leaving.” 

Hunter nods wordlessly and her hand moves to his cheek. He shuts his eyes against her touch and leans into her palm. 

“This is about Ward,” Bobbi finally says after a long beat of silence. His eyes snap open. “About–what Ward did to me.” 

One of her hands falls away from him, moving to touch the scar on her shoulder from the bullet. 

“Yeah,” he admits hoarsely. “You weren’t answering your phone. The last time that happened…” 

“It won’t happen again,” she tells him firmly. Something burns in her eyes and he knows she needs to believe it just as much as he does. Her lips crash into his, hard and a little clumsy. He reciprocates before easing it back into something gentle and languid, pulling away as she sighs in some kind of relief. 

They’ve maybe never been the best at talking, but that doesn’t mean they don’t know how to communicate. 

He tucks a stray hair behind her ear and gives her a crooked grin. “So. What are we making, love?” 

She smiles back, surging forward to peck him on the lips one last time. “Fettuccini alfredo.” 

He licks his lips comically, wrestling a laugh out of her and he smiles to himself. His heart rate slowly returns to normal. 

They can pretend to be everyone else in the world, but at the end of the day, they’re still Bobbi and Hunter. She still carries the scars of that day and he still carries some of his own. 

But she’s here next to him, breathing and smiling and stirring alfredo sauce. They’ll be okay. 


	162. What Do We Do Now? (Post 3x22)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: could you do one that is directly after Jemma says "what do we do now?" In the finale that focuses on Fitzsimmons?

> “What do we do now?” Jemma asks, looking around at her teammates. It still doesn’t feel real, any of it. Lincoln is _gone_ , just like that. Daisy will never be the same, and deep in her heart Jemma knows how close she’d gotten to that point herself. 
> 
> Had Fitz not woken up after the nine longest days of her life? She’d have been the one sobbing begging someone to help her even when there was nothing anyone else could do. 
> 
> May moves toward Daisy with a shock blanket. She wraps it around Daisy and Daisy shouts out. “No! No, I don’t need that! I need help, I can save him! I CAN SAVE HIM!” 
> 
> Coulson flinches, something dark passing over his eyes. He nods solemnly at Fitz and Jemma, turning to each member of the team. “Give us some space, okay? Head back to the base. And Mack, keep me updated on Elena’s condition.”
> 
> Mack nods and leads the charge back into the Playground, Fitz and Jemma trailing behind. Her hand wraps around Fitz’s on some kind of instinct, reaching for the feeling she always gets from his touch. She uses her other hand to grab onto him even tighter, feeling around for his pulse and practically melting at the reassurance that he’s alive. He’s here. They both are. 
> 
> Fitz begins walking toward the kitchen and she tugs him the other direction, toward her bunk. He doesn’t protest, following after her in silence as she keys in her code and collapses onto the bed, pulling him with her. 
> 
> It doesn’t take very long for the sobs to come. She should know better than to let him hold her when she’s upset; every time, as soon as he does, she loses all ability to hold it inside. It comes tumbling out in wailing cries and jumbled words. She can feel his tears on the top of her head and does her best to gather herself. When she’s finally calmed to hiccups, she wipes away the tears from her cheeks and looks up at him, repeating her earlier question.
> 
> “What do we do now?” Jemma asks, voice cracking with the weight of a seemingly simple question. 

> “Whatever we want,” Fitz whispers, tucking her hair behind her ear. She leans into his palm, trying to forget the time he did this just before she’d had to watch him jump through a portal to save her life–again.
> 
> “I want you to stop.” 
> 
> He withdraws his hand as though he’s been burned. “Okay. Sorry.” 
> 
> “No,” Jemma says, reaching out for him and pulling him back.  “Not that. I meant–you can’t do what Lincoln just did, ever.” 
> 
> “Jemma…” 
> 
> “I mean it, Fitz,” Jemma says fiercely. His eyes widen slightly in surprise and he watches her expression carefully. “If that ever happened, I–I wouldn’t survive.” 
> 
> “I can’t promise I won’t do everything I can to save your life,” Fitz tells her honestly, voice raw and tired. “You know I can’t do that.” 
> 
> “Then let’s go,” Jemma suggests. She sits up and stares at him with a hint of excitement in her eyes. “Let’s get out of here. Let’s go start a new life on our own. A safe life, a life where I don’t have to worry at every corner that you’re going to be turned into a faceless zombie monster–” 
> 
> “That’s not a very high bar,” Fitz chuckles wryly. He sits up on his elbows and watches her. “You’re serious?” 
> 
> She nods enthusiastically, the idea lighting up the inside of her chest. “It doesn’t even have to be the Seychelles. We can go anywhere we want.” 
> 
> “So you want us to leave?” Fitz asks slowly, looking for combination. “Pull a Hunter and Bobbi and just–give up being SHIELD agents?” 
> 
> She hesitates. “Well, not quite like that. We’re not on the run, are we? We could still be consultants. Get a house with our own lab–” 
> 
> “Get a house?” Fitz echoes, eyebrows raising. Even in the darkness of this day, the thought that she wants to live with him, just the two of them, heartens him. He taps on her knee and grins at her teasingly. “Where, like in Perthshire?” 
> 
> She lights up, like her insides are glowing, all at the mention of one word, one place. “Yes. Exactly like in Perthshire. We can go on vacation, Fitz, and just…figure it out from there.”
> 
> He hesitates for a moment. “Let me get this straight. Jemma I-love-homework-and-filing-systems Simmons wants to take an indefinite vacation with no real plan?” 
> 
> She sucks in a deep breath. “Yes. I do.” 
> 
> He swallows hard, like he always seems to do these days whenever she happens to say the words ‘I do’, and he sits up fully to face her. Jemma watches him carefully, aching hope in her eyes, and he leans forward to kiss her like he’s wanted to do all day, ever since those zombies came for him. 
> 
> She responds immediately, grabbing at his shirt and tugging him as close as she can get him. She clambers into his lap, hands running through his hair as she deepens the kiss.
> 
> Before she can escalate things further–and he’s quite sure that’s exactly what she’s trying to do–he pulls back and looks at her with a little smile. “Perthshire or bust, huh?” 
> 
> She grins. “You’ll come?” 
> 
> “I followed you to the middle of nowhere on a guided mushroom foraging trip,” he reminds her. 
> 
> “Oh, that was so much fun!” 
> 
> “I got poison oak,” he grumbles. 
> 
> She sighs. “I had told you what to look for–” 
> 
> He shakes his head, cutting them both off of an argument they’ve had a thousand times before. “Let’s go.” 
> 
> “To Perthshire?” 
> 
> “Perthshire, the Seychelles, both, neither,” he lists off, rubbing soothing circles on her back. “Let’s just go.” 
> 
> “Let’s go,” she repeats, a slow smile blooming over her face. She nods decisively and climbs off of him. He groans in disappointment, but a smile still stays glued on his face as she pulls out a laptop. She ushers him toward the headboard, sitting up beside him and pulling up her browser. She opens two bookmark folders–one labelled Perthshire, the other Stay Out Fitz. 
> 
> “The Seychelles were going to be a surprise,” she reminds him when he barks out a laugh. 
> 
> “Yeah, yeah,” he says, waving his hand. “So show me where exactly you want to take my breath away.” 
> 
> “I found this snorkeling excursion,” Jemma says excitedly, clicking on a link to pull up the page. He leans into her arm, listening to her happily inform him that they could see _so many fish._
> 
> He can’t promise he won’t ever die for her, but he can promise that he’ll follow her anywhere. So three days later, after they’ve spent some time with Daisy and Jemma has stabilized Elena’s injuries with directions to the rest of the med team, they head out with bags packed.
> 
> First to the Seychelles, then to Perthshire. 


	163. Baby Shower (FitzSimmons Twins + Millie Triplett Verse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Right now I'm kind of in love with the way you write parent/child relationships. So, if you have the time and the inspiration, how about something about Skye/Jemma or Trip/Fitz bonding over parenthood in your twins au - like they have a triple baby shower together or something like that?

> Jemma and Skye walk through the base cautiously. It’s eerily quiet, especially for this time of day. Sure, it’s a Sunday afternoon, but the bad guys don’t get weekends off and neither do SHIELD agents. They spend a good amount of time on the base, even now that they’re both consultants. Coulson had called them here today on an urgent matter. 
> 
> Skye is about ready to pop, and her hands dance nervously over her enlarged stomach as she and Jemma make their way down the hallway. 
> 
> “Surprise!” a chorus of voices shouts as they enter the common area. 
> 
> Skye draws a gun; Jemma shoves her body in front of Skye’s enormous baby belly, one arm wrapped around her own growing bump and the other in front of her friend. 
> 
> Bobbi grimaces. “That probably wasn’t the best plan.” 
> 
> “I told you it wasn’t,” Melinda reminds them all. “Well, welcome to your baby shower.” 
> 
> Skye laughs incredulously, lowering her weapon and putting it back into her handbag. She blinks away her rapidly growing tears and sighs. “I swear, these hormones. Seriously, guys, thank you.” 
> 
> Jemma stares up at the paper decorations that shout CONGRATULATIONS, JEMMA + SKYE! 
> 
> Underneath it, in Hunter’s unmistakable scrawl, is a little sheet of computer paper tacked on that reads AND TRIP AND FITZ!!!! 

> “Come on, sit down,” Coulson beckons, walking over to support Skye’s teetering body. “You shouldn’t be standing.” 
> 
> “Do you need help too?” Hunter asks cautiously, eying Jemma’s stomach wearily. “I can…do that, I guess.” 
> 
> Jemma laughs and shoves him lightly as she walks past him. “I’m not quite as far along as she is yet. You have some time to practice your pregnant lady skills.” 
> 
> Hunter sighs in relief, pulling out a chair for her and easing her into it despite her words. Bobbi watches with a fond smile. 
> 
> “We actually have some announcements to make, so it’s good you’re all here,” Skye says once she’s settled in with a plastic tiara on her head. Jemma’s matches, perched on top of her curls. “Jemma, you wanna go first?’ 
> 
> “Oh, I don’t know if I should say anything without Fitz here,” Jemma sighs, looking around at her friends’ eager faces. “Although to be completely honest, I think he’s still catatonic.” 
> 
> Skye snorts and grabs a giant handful of potato chips from the bowl in front of her. “You could say that again. Poor guy looked like he’d seen the Bus ghost all over again.” 
> 
> “Bus ghost?” Bobbi asks, tilting her head to the side in confusion.
> 
> “Long story,” Jemma, Skye, Coulson, and May reply in tandem. 
> 
> “Is Fitz okay?” Hunter asks, doing a poor job at looking unconcerned. 
> 
> “Your boyfriend is fine,” Jemma teases, rolling her eyes. “I suppose I might as well tell you all now. We’re having twins.” 
> 
> Bobbi shouts out in congratulations, leaning over the back of the chair to give her a hug around the shoulders. Coulson’s eyes widen before he laughs joyously, and even May smiles. 
> 
> “Poor Fitz,” Hunter commiserates. “Two whole babies. That’s 4 arms! 4 legs! Millions more diapers.” 
> 
> “Has he been around a human baby before?” Jemma asks Bobbi quietly. Bobbi shakes her head. 
> 
> “No, absolutely not. Supervision is required.” 
> 
> “What about you, Skye?” Coulson asks. “You having another one, too? Having three babies, maybe?” 
> 
> Skye grins and shares a look with Jemma. “No, no. It’s not that. It’s…well, Trip and I finally agreed on a name.” 
> 
> Everyone turns their attention toward her, and Jemma speaks up. “Fitz and I actually had quite a bit to do with it. The four of us were all talking about how various experiences with our own families and how we don’t really feel all that prepared for parenthood.” 
> 
> “Orphan,” Skye says, gesturing at herself, “rich, distant folks,” she continues, pointing at Jemma, “and then Trip was raised by his grandma and Fitz’s dad split–” 
> 
> “So, aside from Skye’s oversharing,” Jemma interrupts, shooting her friend a slightly annoyed glance. “We talked about the people in our lives who _did_ teach us a thing or two about family.” 
> 
> Skye clears her throat, looking away for a brief moment. Her uncharacteristic shyness has everyone leaning forward in anticipation. “So, we’ve decided to name her Melinda. Melinda Margaret Triplett.” 
> 
> Everyone freezes and then simultaneously swings their heads toward Melinda. May’s face is expressionless for a brief moment, but then she smiles, brighter than any of her team (aside from Coulson) has ever seen. 
> 
> “I–I’m honored,” May finally says. She approaches Skye and kneels down to hug her. Skye hugs her back, squeezing her tightly and shutting her eyes. 
> 
> Jemma feels a sudden kick in her stomach and grins, running her thumb over the area of her abdomen where one of her babies is moving around inside. 
> 
> “Can I?” Hunter asks nervously. She grins and takes his hand, placing it over her stomach. 
> 
> “Can you feel that?” 
> 
> “Holy shit,” he breathes. “That kids going to be one hell of a footballer.” 
> 
> “That’s exactly what Fitz said,” Jemma laughs. “He’ll be upset that he missed you all.” 
> 
> “No need,” Fitz interrupts. She looks over her should to find him and Trip grinning at her, arms full of gifts. “We got the invite.” 
> 
> “You two knew?” Skye gasps, scandalized. “And you didn’t even tell your pregnant wives?” 
> 
> “See, that kind of eliminates the whole ‘surprise’ part of a surprise baby shower,” Trip interjects, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. 
> 
> “How’s it going?” Fitz asks Jemma quietly. “Everything okay? The babies alright?” 
> 
> “Well, Skye almost shot all of our dearest friends, but we’re okay,” Jemma grins, leaning into his shoulder as he takes a seat beside her. “And the babies are good. We’re all good.” 
> 
> “Good,” he says with a satisfied nod. He turns back to the group at large, moving his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “So, when are we doing cake?” 
> 
> “Some things don’t change,” Bobbi jokes. “I’ll go get it out of the fridge.” 
> 
> On the way home that evening, Jemma can’t stop smiling, and it’s not because of the trunk full of adorable onesies and blankets. If anything could have prepared her for motherhood, it was saving the world alongside her ragtag, strange little team. 
> 
> She reaches over and takes Fitz’s hand, resting them both on the center console. She rubs little circles on his hand and he glances over at her. 
> 
> “Everything okay?” 
> 
> “Everything is perfect.” 


	164. California Here We Come (Twins Verse, Canon Compliant)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: FitzSimmons are at a hot california beach, hands full of beach bags, toys, umbrella, and ice chest, with three little Fitzsimmons (all under the age of six) miserably following them. The littlest one is wailing because his feet are burning on the hot sand. Hunter and Bobbi look on wondering if this is the best place to meet the Fitzsimmon’s clan after five years. 
> 
> Another person requested that the kids be the Twins (Rosie and Nik). So, here’s FitzSimmons and their twins meeting Huntingbird for the first time in five years. This isn’t compliant with the other twins fics, as this one is canon-compliant.

“HOT HOT HOT!” Rosie screams, dashing across the sand wildly. Her knees nearly reach her chest, arms flailing around gracelessly. Jemma snorts, juggling what feels like a hundred different kinds of sand toys. 

“Owwwww,” Nik whines. He collapses onto the ground face down. “OWWW!” 

“Kiddo, that’s only going to make it worse,” Fitz tries to reason with him. He’s wearing a gigantic backpack that doubles as a cooler, carrying four bags toys and towels and clothes. “Get on up.” 

“My feet,” Nik groans. “They huuuuurt.” 

“I know, sweetie,” Jemma coos from the front of the line. “But once we get you in the water–” 

“NO WATER!” Nik screams. Fitz looks up to the sky, wondering not for the first time why on Earth he decided to have children. 

“Nik, bud, come on,” Fitz pleads. “My feet are burning too.” 

Fitz hops from foot to foot, awkwardly bending down to pat his four year old on the shoulder. 

“Daddy, ow!” Rosie shrieks, running at him full speed. She collides with his knees and starts trying to scramble up his body. “Up!” 

“Oh God,” Fitz groans as he does his best to lift his daughter despite all of the baggage wrapped around his body. Up ahead, his wife lays down a large blanket and begins setting up the umbrellas and chairs. “Guys, look! Your mum has everything all ready for you. Your feet will feel better on the blanket.” 

“It’s too far, daddy!” Nik demands. He finally rolls over so that Fitz can see him; unfortunately, that also means Nik is looking directly into the sun. “I can’t see!” 

“Shut your eyes, Nikky!” Fitz instructs, hoisting Rosie more firmly onto his hip. “Jemma? A little help over here?” 

Jemma looks up just as one of their umbrellas goes blowing down the beach. Fitz watches it go with resignation setting into his chest. Jemma dashes over and scoops Nik off the ground. 

“Come on, you!” Jemma cheers. “We’ll have you all fixed up in no time.” 

“You’re the best, mama.” 

“I know I am,” Jemma grins, looking over her shoulder at Fitz with a wink. “It’s not daddy’s fault he doesn’t have mummy magic.” 

Nik nods into Jemma’s neck. “No, not his fault.” 

Fitz shoots her a haughty glare when he reaches the blanket, setting Rosie down before finally freeing himself of the many, many straps around his torso. He groans in relief when the cooler backpack finally hits the sand, stretching his back with his hands on his hips. 

“Now that’s familiar, at least,” Hunter tells Bobbi, from their spot further down the beach. “Good to know he’s still standing like a pregnant woman.” 

Bobbi laughs, peering at her friends over the tops of her sunglasses. “Jemma’s on the exactly coordinate location I sent her.” 

“Of course she is,” Hunter says wryly. “The girl is nothing if not a perfectionist.” 

“I can’t believe they have _kids_ ,” Bobbi marvels aloud. “I’m really happy those two got their shit together, but–” 

“Mad scientist twins,” Hunter cuts her off. “There’s two, tiny mad scientists and I guarantee you they’re going to take over the world.” 

“That’s no way to talk about your godchildren,” Bobbi chides him. She stands up, picking up the umbrella she’d caught as it rolled away from the FitzSimmons camp. 

“They’re not our godchildren,” Hunter reminds her, standing to follow her. He dusts the sand off of his swim trunks. 

“Oh, they will be by the time this trip is over,” Bobbi says with determination in her eyes. “I brought everything. Candy, popsicles, juice boxes, coloring books, some science magazines…” 

“You really want to be the favorite,” Hunter grins. 

“Of course I do,” Bobbi responds immediately. “Don’t try to pretend you’re not hoping that they tell Mack all about their new favorite uncle.” 

Hunter picks up the miniature boogie boards by their tiny leashes, slinging them over his shoulder. “I have no such wish.” 

“Then what’s with the boogie boards?” Bobbi challenges. “You had them custom made, Hunter.” 

“Shut it.” 

“Excuse me, I think we have your umbrella?” Bobbi asks as she approaches the FitzSimmons family. All four of them turn to look at her at the same time. Jemma’s face lights up and Fitz looks at them both with a fond smile. 

“Oh my goodness!” Jemma gasps dramatically, and not at all convincingly. “Look, Fitz! Our good friends from university, Bobbi and Hunter!” 

“Would you look at that,” Fitz grins, standing up to pull Hunter into a hug. “It’s good to see you, mate.” 

“You too,” Hunter agrees. “And who are these tiny humans?” 

“My name is Rosie,” Fitz’s daughter interjects, pushing herself between the two men. She tugs at Hunter’s shirt until he bends down far enough for her to whisper in his ear. “Are you a super spy like Auntie Melinda?” 

“I am exactly a super spy like your Auntie Melinda, and I want you to tell her that I said that.” 

By the end of the afternoon, Bobbi and Hunter really are the favorite aunt and uncle. They promise to see them again soon, and Jemma hopes that they’re able to keep their promise. The kids wouldn’t be the only ones to miss them. 


	165. WiFi Bandit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fitzsimmons + "Why does our neighbor keep using our wifi?"/ "Maybe you shouldn't have made the password a dumb Doctor Who reference" AU

Fitz groans as he opens the latest later from the cable company, threatening to cut off service if he and Hunter don’t stop illegally downloading movies. 

The things is, neither of them are torrenting anything. Fitz is sure of this because his roommate can hardly figure out how to work Netflix, and Fitz takes piracy laws very, very seriously. 

It’s the neighbor. Again. He’s just not sure which neighbor.

“What’s up?” 

“Why does our neighbor keep using our WiFi?” Fitz asks him, handing him the letter. Hunter skims it and tosses it aside with a shrug. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have made the password a dumb Doctor Who reference.” 

“That’s it!” Fitz exclaims. “That’s how we figure out which neighbor is doing it. Who lives in our building that could be a Who fan?” 

“Well, there’s the She Devil,” Hunter suggests. “I bet it was her. She’s–” 

“Nope,” Fitz says, holding up a flat palm to stop him. “We’re not doing this. So she didn’t call you back, time to get over it.” 

“It’s not that she didn’t call me back, it’s that she–” 

“Shh,” Fitz hushes sharply. “Think, Hunter. Aside from Bobbi, who do you think it could be?” 

“The British chick who lives with the Hell Beast?” Hunter suggests. “I mean, she’s British so…Doctor Who.” 

Fitz snorts. “Just because she’s British–” 

“She carries a Tardis coffee cup,” Hunter interrupts. 

“She does?” Fitz asks dumbly. He’s had a bit of a crush on her ever since he rode the elevator with her. He feels his heart sink when he ponders the possibility of her being the dastardly internet thief. 

“Yep,” Hunter says. “They live in 2B, if you want to go have a chat with her.” 

Fitz chews on his lip. “Come with?” 

“No way,” Hunter denies, shaking his head rather vehemently. “I’m not going near _her_ lair.” 

Fitz sighs heavily and slips the letter into his back pocket. “Fine. If you’re too afraid to face the girls upstairs, then I guess I’ll do it alone.” 

He strides to the door and hesitates, hoping that Hunter will change his mind and join him. His roommate clicks on the television and collapses back onto their sketchy Craigslist couch, leaving Fitz on his own. He shakes out his nervous hands and heads into the hallway, walking slowly up the stairwell between the two floors. When he reaches 2B, he knocks hesitantly and steps back in shock when the British girl swings it open immediately. 

“Oh, hello!” she greets happily. “You’re…Fitz, right? From 1D?” 

“Yeah, that’s–that’s me,” he answers, trying not to get too flustered by the fact that the cute girl upstairs knows his name. “Fitz from 1D. And you’re….?” 

“Jemma,” she smiles. “How can I help you, Fitz from 1D?” 

“This probably sounds crazy, but…are you a Doctor Who fan?” 

She beams and nods enthusiastically. “Oooh, yes! Why do you ask?” 

“Well, see, my WiFi is named Tardis, and I keep getting these letters,” he explains with a grimace, sliding the letter out of his pocket and handing it to her. She unfolds it with a little frown on her practically perfect face, skimming it with a hard to read expression.

“Do you think I did this?” she gasps accusingly. “I don’t participate in…in bad girl shenanigans! I like following the rules and doing what’s expected of me. It makes me feel nice.” 

He practically chokes on his own spit. He’s sure she didn’t mean to sound quite so explicit, but it still affects him regardless. 

“Well, you seem like the only one who would have guessed my password, and-” 

“You have some nerve!” Jemma practically shrieks. “Coming to my home and accusing me of not only stealing your internet but also of pirating films!” 

“I–” 

“If you haven’t noticed, we have our own WiFi network, thank you. Pretty Fly For A WiFi, and while it’s not the name I personally would have chosen–” 

“It’s the perfect name,” another voice interrupts. A slim girl with dark hair and a leather jacket slips past Fitz into Jemma’s apartment. “Oh hey, are you Tardis Guy?” 

“That’s me,” he says awkwardly. 

“Oh no way, Jemma has a huge–” 

“Daisy!” Jemma hisses. “Not now. _Fitz_ here was just in the middle of accusing me of stealing his internet and illegally downloading movies.” 

Daisy freezes, dropping her bag on the floor with a thud. “Oh. Well, uh, funny story, Jemma–” 

“Daisy, no!” Jemma groans. Daisy grins slightly, black lipstick revealing white teeth. 

“Well, I didn’t wanna download the new Antoine Triplett movie on _your_ WiFi.” 

Jemma colors spectacularly. “I’m so sorry, Fitz. It seems I am the cause of this after all. This is Daisy, my friend from college. She’s been getting me into trouble since day one.” 

“And you’ve enjoyed every second of it,” Daisy sing-songs. “Hey Jemma, why don’t you make it up to the poor guy with a cup of tea? Take him to that place you were just telling me about.” 

Fitz didn’t think it was possible, but she blushes even brighter. “Oh, I don’t know if Fitz would enjoy that.” 

“No, I would!” he interjects, a bit too quickly, before she can back out. “I’d like that very much.” 

Then Daisy is shoving Jemma’s coat into her hands, promising to never log into his WiFi again, and advising him to change his password to something unrelated to the name of his network. 

It turns out Jemma from 2B is just as cute and funny and brilliant as he’s always imagined her to be. And if his internet provider decides to cut him off, so be it; it was worth it. 


	166. World War III AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: could you write "Jemma is a refugee and Fitz offers her help, inviting her to his and her mother's house for some time", please?

> When things get bad in London, she flees. Both of her parents are long gone, and she’s been hiding in the remains of an old building for too long–almost longer than she can remember, now. 
> 
> When the first bombs started falling, she was twenty-four. She has no idea how old she is anymore. Things like birthdays don’t matter much anymore. They’re calling this World War III. At least, they were. That was before all the news outlets seemed to close down. 
> 
> There are rumors that things are better in other places, and so she takes what little possessions she still has and she sets off on a journey for Scotland. She steals a few cars, abandoning them when they run out of gas on the side of wrecked roads. 
> 
> Then she walks. She walks for what feels like forever, consulting an outdated map from Before and hoping with everything in her that it’s still right, because it _has_ to be, because she won’t survive if it’s not. 
> 
> Although, she thinks, there are so many moments she thought she wouldn’t survive, and yet she did. 
> 
> It takes almost two weeks to get to Scotland, and another week to get to Glasgow. The rumors had been right; things do seem better here. They’re not good, by any means. There is still chaos and ruined buildings, but there is also electricity and water. The people are scared, though, and as soon as night falls, they retreat to their homes and board up their windows, barricading their doors. 
> 
> It only takes three nights until she’s half-starving and utterly freezing. Mustering up what little strength she has left, she knocks on the first door she finds. A gruff voice speaks to her through the wood. 
> 
> “Who’s there?” 
> 
> “I’m–I’m–” 
> 
> Her voice is weak, so quiet that she wonders if he can even hear her through the door. But then locks begin clicking, and a startlingly blue eye peers at her through a crack in the door. 

> “Where are you from?” 
> 
> Through chattering teeth, she just manages to get out the word “London.” 
> 
> The door swings open with a creak, revealing a man around her own age. “You survived. In England.” 
> 
> She nods weakly, wrapping her arms around her middle and looking at the ground. “I’m…I need help.” 
> 
> He ushers her inside, shutting the door and doing up the locks. “The Shield Allies have a military base nearby. That’s how we stayed so safe here. But England…” 
> 
> “Has gone to hell,” she finishes. He sits her down on a wooden chair. She sinks into it, jumping slightly when he covers her in a thick knitted blanket. 
> 
> “Sorry,” he says with a wince. “But you seem really cold.” 
> 
> “I am. Thank you.” 
> 
> “Let me make you some tea,” he says, wiping his hands on his jeans. He looks cleaner than just about anyone she’s spoken to ever since the bombs started falling. “So, uh…what’s your name?” 
> 
> “Jemma,” she says. Her name feels heavy in her mouth. She hasn’t used it in ages. “And yours?” 
> 
> “Fitz. Well, Leo, if we want to be technical about it.” 
> 
> “And it’s a perfectly good name,” an older woman teases as she enters the room from the staircase. “But he insists on going by his surname.” 
> 
> “Mum, this is Jemma. She’s from England.” 
> 
> Jemma looks between them and then stares down at the knitted blanket. She knows the drill; this isn’t the first time she’s sought help from strangers. “I’ll just be on my way soon.” 
> 
> “Don’t be ridiculous,” Fitz tells her, looking at her as though she’s grown two heads. “You’ll stay here with us. Right, mum?” 
> 
> “Of course you will,” his mother replies immediately. “I won’t have you going back out there, young lady.” 
> 
> Jemma smiles slightly at the woman’s maternal sharpness. “Um, alright. I…thank you.” 
> 
> “We’ll let Lieutenant Morse know that we’ve got an extra mouth to feed. She’ll increase our rations,” Fitz’s mum says to him. “Tomorrow will be fine. It’s nearly dark.” 
> 
> “I’ll take Jemma into the sitting room while you cook,” Fitz suggests. He lifts two warm mugs of tea from the counter and cocks his head, indicating the direction they’ll be moving. Jemma practically leaps up to follow him, the scent of hot tea practically intoxicating. 
> 
> He laughs gently when she makes grabby hands at one of the mugs. He passes it over and she sinks into a large armchair. She moans lightly at the feeling of cushions, actual cushions, cradling her body. He watches her carefully, worry dancing in his eyes. 
> 
> She takes a cautious sip of tea, tears flooding her eyes at the taste. Fitz leans toward her, putting a tentative hand on her knee. “Jemma, are you okay?” 
> 
> “It’s just…memory is so strange, isn’t it? I’m not even sure how old I am anymore, but I can remember so clearly when I had my last cup of tea. I was with…my parents. I was home for the holidays from university. I was studying in the States, and–” 
> 
> “I was too,” he interrupts excitedly. “I was at MIT, getting my PhD.” 
> 
> She smiles broadly. “I was at Yale. But you can’t be more than–” 
> 
> “Twenty seven,” he fills in. “I…graduated a bit early. From most things.” 
> 
> She gapes at him. “How on earth is it possible that I never met anyone like me before all of this, but now…here you are?” 
> 
> “I uh, I don’t know if this helps…but if you were twenty four when this all started, that means you’re twenty seven now. Same as me.” 
> 
> The tears burn at her eyes again, the strangest combination of relief and pain that she’s ever experienced. “It does help. Thank you, Fitz.” 
> 
> “Your family. Are they close by?” he asks. He looks around the house, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “It’ll be a tight fit, but I’m sure we can make room.” 
> 
> She shakes her head rapidly. “No, they’re…gone. All of them.” 
> 
> It’s the first time she’s said it out loud, the first time she’s had a conversation longer than a few words long with anyone, and as soon as the first sob wrenches from her throat, there’s no stopping the rest. It’s been so long and she is so tired of fighting. She is tired of losing. She is tired of running. 
> 
> He reaches for her and then withdraws his hand immediately after. She cries harder, wrapping her arms around herself. He seems to make a decision, moving to sit on the arm of the chair she sits in. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, rubbing little circles with his thumb. Her head moves to land on his neck. He smells like pine and tea and she’s only just met him, but he’s the first human contact she’s had in so long. She leans into his touch like a pet returning to its owner. 
> 
> She eventually calms, color rushing to her cheeks in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.” 
> 
> “You’ve been through quite the ordeal, Jemma,” he tells her gently. “It’s alright to break.” 
> 
> “I wasn’t like this. Before.” 
> 
> “None of us were,” he shrugs. “Everything’s changed. You’re just different now, and there’s nothing wrong with that.” 
> 
> She turns her head to meet his eyes, startled by just how close he is. Her eyes travel to his lips on instinct, but she pulls herself out of those sorts of thoughts. She’s going to be living with him for the foreseeable future. The last thing she needs to do is ruin that by her desperate need for human connection. 
> 
> And if he’s the best person she’s ever met, even from Before, then she’ll just have to learn to deal with that. 
> 
> A few nights later, bombs fall on Edinburgh. It’s so loud that even Fitz’s house in Glasgow trembles. Jemma wakes at the sound and a scream rips from her lips. 
> 
> She’s in London again, a bomb tearing through her home. Flames licking at everything she loved. Her parents, lying side by side–
> 
> Her hands fly up to her ears. “No. No. No. NO!” 
> 
> Fitz comes running down the stairs, in a pair of pajama pants and no shirt. She hardly notices him as he crawls onto the cot in the sitting room that has become her bed. She lashes out at him, punching his chest and scrambling backward. 
> 
> “Jemma. Hey, hey, Jemma. It’s okay. It’s alright. I’m right here.” 
> 
> Her eyes are wild, crazed and haunted. He doesn’t even hesitate, just pulls her into his lap and holds her against his chest until she calms down. He rides out the rest of the bombs with her, tightening his arms around her with every shake of the house. 
> 
> It is alright. He is here. 
> 
> She’s never liked to depend on anyone, but maybe she can depend on him. 
> 
> *** 
> 
> The months crawl by. He shows her how he keeps track of the passage of time without a calendar. She teaches him how to set traps in the fields to supplement their rations with meat. He’s squeamish; she does the killing. They have tea and form something of a book club, taking turns reading the same thing and then discussing it. He has some old video tapes and a working VCR, and they watch classics like Monty Python and The Twilight Zone long into the night. 
> 
> In the blue glow of the television, she can pretend that they’re normal. That they’re two people who just want to spend time together. 
> 
> And that’s how the words come out one day, while they prepare lunch for his mum. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Never wanting to be without someone?” 
> 
> “What?” he asks, staring at her rather dumbly. She smiles fondly, shaking her head and returning to her task of peeling the small carrots they’d been allotted. 
> 
> “It’s just…even when this is all over, I can’t imagine ever being without you now.” 
> 
> “Really?” 
> 
> “Yes, really,” she smiles. “You’ve been nothing short of extraordinary this whole time.” 
> 
> She hopes he knows what she means. She doesn’t just mean the things he’s given her, or what he is to her. She means what he is, in his entirety. 
> 
> “I think I’d have lost my mind if you hadn’t come along,” he tells her with a blush rising in his cheeks. 
> 
> “You’re my best friend in the world,” she blurts out. He looks over at her, chest rising and falling rapidly with his quickened breaths. 
> 
> “Yeah, and you’re more than that, Jemma.” 
> 
> Her heart stops, and not the way that it does when the military does drills with their guns in a nearby field. It’s pleasant, a good kind of ache. 
> 
> So she doesn’t think. She steps forward and presses her lips against his in his little kitchen. He responds immediately, wrapping his arms around her waist. 
> 
> Jemma had become accustomed to not being aware of the passage of time, so she’s not surprised that she has no idea how long they stand there, her back pressed up against one of the cupboards as his fingers dance along her ribs. 
> 
> A cough separates them. 
> 
> “About time, you two,” Fitz’s mum grins. “But could you clear out of my kitchen? You’re burning lunch.” 
> 
> Bright red but grinning, they scamper into the sitting room. He pulls her onto the couch with a chuckle and she giggles into his neck, squeezing him around the middle. 
> 
> The war may not be over, but she feels as though she’s just emerged the victor of a different kind of battle. And maybe she has. 


	167. Epilogue--You Are My Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A requested epilogue for my one shot posted on AO3, titled You Are My Sunshine. 
> 
> Prompt: Okay I desperately need an epilogue to "You Are My Sunshine" where Will finally decides to give a damn about Simmons and Ellie and Simmons is all "Yeah, she's not yours" ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

> Ellie is on the floor, Fitz jingling keys in front of her. Jemma sits on the couch, working on some documents for work that she’s fallen behind on. Writing grant proposals is one of her least favorite aspects of being a researcher–but without the grant money, she can’t do the parts that she actually _enjoys._  
> 
> She looks away from her screen as Fitz begins trying to cajole Ellie into crawling.
> 
> “Come on!” he encourages, voice high pitched in the way that most people talk to dogs. “Come on, Ellie, you can do it! Come on!” 
> 
> “Are you going to ask her if she’s a good girl next?” Jemma asks drily. Fitz looks up with a little huff.  
> 
> “I’m just trying to encourage her, Jemma.” 
> 
> She laughs and goes back to her work. “Yes, Fitz, I know, but you’re also treating our daughter like a puppy.” 
> 
> He drops the keys after that, but the voice stays. The quiet of their afternoon is disturbed by a knock on the door. Fitz and Jemma exchange a confused look and Jemma hops off of the couch. 
> 
> “I’ll get it,” she offers, already halfway to her apartment door. It’s been two months since the DNA test, and just as Fitz had said, not much has changed about their routine. He no longer sleeps on the couch, though, having upgraded to sleeping beside Jemma in her bed. Most of his stuff is in her closet now, and she’s working up the courage to tell him that he really shouldn’t be paying rent for a place he doesn’t live in. 
> 
> Besides, their combined incomes could probably get them a nice little 2 or 3 bedroom house with a yard, which would be infinitely better for Ellie. 
> 
> Jemma swings open the door, startled to find Will standing there, holding flowers and a stuffed bear. 
> 
> “Will,” she gasps. “Um, hi.” 
> 
> “Hey Jemma,” he says sheepishly. He holds up the flowers as an offering. “I uh, I brought you these. Can we talk?” 

> Jemma clears her throat awkwardly. “Now’s not really the best time.” 
> 
> “Eleanor Margaret,” Fitz says in a jokingly stern voice. “Don’t you make that face at me.” 
> 
> Will frowns. “Is that Fitz?” 
> 
> “No, it’s my other Scottish boyfriend,” Jemma scoffs, crossing her arms defensively. “Of course it’s Fitz.” 
> 
> “Boyfriend?” Will repeats. “Fitz is your _boyfriend_ now?” 
> 
> She scrunches up her face. “Well, it seems a bit silly to call him that, given that we have a child together. But yes, he is.” 
> 
> “ _Fitz_ is raising my kid?” Will asks incredulously. “No, Jemma. Absolutely not. I never forfeited my rights.”
> 
> Jemma shuts her eyes in annoyance, snapping them open with a growing smile on her face. “Why don’t you come on in and we can discuss a few things?” 
> 
> Will steps right in at her invitation, halting in the living room. Fitz looks up with wide eyes. Ellie stares up at Will with matching baby blues. 
> 
> “Why does she look–” 
> 
> “Like me?” Fitz finishes. Jemma can see that he’s going to have entirely too much fun with this. Fitz had never liked will; not when she first started dating him in college, and not at any point afterward. He’d hated Will even more than he’d disliked her first boyfriend Milton. 
> 
> “Yes,” Will says with gritted teeth. He tosses the bear carelessly onto the couch. “What’s going on here, Jemma?”
> 
> “I just want to remind you,” Jemma says calmly, “that you’re the one who felt it was best to have a don’t ask, don’t tell policy during our many breakups.” 
> 
> Will stares between Jemma, Fitz, and then Ellie. “Are you saying–” 
> 
> “Fitz and I hooked up,” Jemma interrupts. “Just before your accident. When I got the call I went rushing to you, but…yes. It happened.” 
> 
> Fitz reaches over and covers Ellie’s ears. “Come on, Jemma. She’s too young for this kind of talk.” 
> 
> Shaking her head in affectionate exasperation, she turns back to Will. “Walking out on me is the best thing you could have done, Will. I hope that you’re not here because you’ve changed your mind.” 
> 
> Will blinks several times, looking dazed. “So you’re saying that the baby–” 
> 
> “Eleanor,” Jemma supplies. 
> 
> “Right, the baby, it’s…his?” 
> 
> “Oi, _it_ is a she and _her_ name is Eleanor,” Fitz cuts in, finally standing. He stays near the baby. “Show her some respect.” 
> 
> Jemma chokes on her repressed laugh. “I’m so sorry that I put you in that position to begin with, Will. In my defense, I did honestly believe that she was yours at the time. It wasn’t until after she was born that I really started to have my doubts.” 
> 
> “I was going to do it right,” Will says quietly. “I was–I was going to try to make all of this work.” 
> 
> Jemma tilts her head to the side. “Almost two years later? Eleanor is almost 9 months old, Will. I really am sorry, but–” 
> 
> “I want to see a DNA test,” Will demands. “Just because she has blue eyes, that doesn’t mean anything.” 
> 
> Jemma disappears into her bedroom, returning with a folder and handing it to him. “There are the results. Please be gentle with them, I’m planning on having them put into her baby book.” 
> 
> “You could have done this yourself.” 
> 
> “Believe what you want to, Will,” Jemma sighs, tiring of this entire ordeal. “The fact of the matter is, she’s not yours. You’re off the hook, just like you wanted.” 
> 
> “Ellie and I will walk you out,” Fitz offers, but he’s not smiling. He scoops up the baby and hoists her onto his hip. She babbles happily, slapping at his face clumsily. 
> 
> “Da!” she squeals. “Da!” 
> 
> Will whirls back to stare at them, almost to the door. Fitz raises his eyebrows with a little shrug. 
> 
> “Honestly, I’m pretty sure she woulda been calling me that with or without the DNA test,” Fitz says seriously. “I’ll take another one of if you want. Whatever it takes for you to leave us alone, alright?” 
> 
> Will grits his teeth, standing in the doorway. “I hope you’re happy, Fitz. This is what you always wanted. I knew you were more than just her best friend.” 
> 
> Fitz shoots him a Cheshire Cat grin. “Oh, I’m _very_ happy. Thank you, mate.”
> 
> Then he slams the door shut with his foot. Ellie claps, chubby little hands making hardly any noise at all. 
> 
> “Thank you, baby girl,” he grins. “I thought I did good, too.”  


	168. Skipping Town (Season 2 Missing Moment)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: can you write a fic that takes place before Jemma goes undercover. just something that was likely to happen to Fitzsimmons before S2 started?

> Jemma slams the door shut in the bathroom, stumbling toward the sink with shaking hands and burning eyes. She can’t even imagine how hard this is for _him_ , when it makes her feel like this. 
> 
> But she’d finally seen it today; what Coulson had been trying to tell her for weeks. He could hold his own with Skye or even with May, but as soon as Jemma entered the room–the trembling increased tenfold. His speech stuttered to a halt. He couldn’t look her in the eyes and became visibly agitated. 
> 
> She has no idea what the hell she’s supposed to do to help him, other than to leave. She can only imagine how badly it will hurt him, but she’d promised Coulson that she wouldn’t tell Fitz where she was going. His doctors feared that constantly worrying about her safety would only impede his progress further. 
> 
> A sob rips from her throat at the thought of entering Hydra, the place that birthed Grant Ward, the place that created countless monsters who used to be men. She can’t tell _anyone_. No one other than May and Coulson can know where she’s going. 

> No one will understand. Everyone will blame her. When she returns–if she even makes it back out of Hydra alive–she’ll be a pariah. The family that she’s built around herself will turn their backs on her and she knows it. There’s no ignoring that truth. 
> 
> Everyone, including Fitz, will believe that she abandoned him without a second thought. It stabs at her gut to think of her friends, but the cries just won’t stop coming when she imagines how Fitz will feel in her unexplained absence. Even before this, he would have blamed himself. He’s always been insecure, but that’s only multiplied in the weeks since the Pod. 
> 
> There’s been no time or proper place to discuss what he said to her, and she’s not sure what she would say. If he’d woken up with no lasting injuries, what would she have done? Her mind tells her that she would have been willing to try–almost like a series of experiments–to see if there could be anything more between them. There’s been an ache in every inch of her ever since he told her how he felt, but she can’t parse out if it’s guilt or love or something entirely different. 
> 
> She’s not allowed to, though. He’s in no state to be worrying over romantic entanglements and while she’s sure her silence hurts him, she knows how angry and agitated he would become if he thought she was faking romantic attraction to him out of pity. No matter what she said or did, that’s how he would view her affections and she knows it. 
> 
> The bathroom door swings open and Skye enters, brushing her new bangs from her eyes and looking at Jemma with deep concern. “Jemma? Oh my god, are you okay?” 
> 
> Jemma shakes her head, unable to form the words to respond, and Skye rushes to her side. She wraps Jemma in a hug, stroking the back of her hair and whispering soothing words. 
> 
> “He’s going to get better, Jemma. And even if he doesn’t–he’ll always have us. We’ll stay with him. You know that.” 
> 
> She nods into Skye’s shoulder, a sense of relief washing over her. That’s exactly what she’s counting on. In her absence, she needs to know that Fitz won’t be alone. For so long, all they’ve had is each other.
> 
> She’ll let him keep their new friends. She’ll venture out into the dark and scary world that is a post-SHIELD existence. She’ll do it alone, with no support and no love, so long as he is surrounded by both. 
> 
> He won’t understand. None of them will. But this is her, giving him the last breath at the bottom of the ocean. This is her sacrifice, and he’ll never know what she’s done to save him. 
> 
> “I think I need to go visit my parents,” Jemma finally hiccups. It’s a lie, the first of many to come, and she’s surprised by how easily it  falls off of her tongue when she has the right motivation. 
> 
> Skye frowns but pulls away nodding. “It might be good for you, to get away from here for a while. You don’t look good, Simmons.” 
> 
> Jemma laughs, a watery sound, and wipes at her wet cheeks with her palms. “I know I don’t. I just don’t know how to help him.” 
> 
> A flash of pity crosses Skye’s face and Jemma resists the urge to shout at her for it. She’s not worthy of pity, not when she did this to him. 
> 
> “When do you want to leave?” Skye asks instead, skirting around the elephant in the room–that Jemma seems to be the only thing impeding Fitz’s progress. 
> 
> “As soon as possible,” Jemma replies. She clears her throat. “As soon as I tell Fitz.” 
> 
> Then she brushes past her friend and heads toward the medical wing, because the ball is now in motion and she is the personification of Newton’s law. She will remain in motion until acted upon by an unbalanced force. 
> 
> She enters Fitz’s room and he immediately fumbles with the puzzle he’s meant to be working on. 
> 
> “Uh–he–hey.” 
> 
> “Hi, Fitz,” she greets as normally as she can. His brow furrows as he takes in her appearance; the messy hair, the glassy red eyes, the quivering in her lips. 
> 
> “Are you–um–ah–oh–oh,” he tries, gritting his teeth and screwing his face up in frustration. 
> 
> “Okay?” Jemma finishes tentatively. He nods sharply and she sucks in a breath, glad that his eyes remain closed. “Yes, Fitz, I’m okay. I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be around for a while.” 
> 
> His eyes snap open and he turns to stare at her accusingly. It’s already begun. He will be angry and resentful and there is nothing she can do about that. All she can do is to help him in the best way she can, even if it hurts him. Even if he doesn’t know she’s helping him at all. 
> 
> “I’m going to visit with my parents,” Jemma says flimsily. He doesn’t seem quite sold on it, but then she smiles as brightly as she can manage and he seems to buy it. “You know how long it’s been. I’m worried about them, is all.” 
> 
> “Can y–you–” 
> 
> “Stop in on your mum?” Jemma fills in. She normally tries to give him more time to get there and find the words but she knows she’s going to start crying again at any second and she needs to get out of here before that happens. He nods once again, his left hand trembling violently on his bedsheets. 
> 
> “Of course I can,” she assures him. “I’m not leaving right this second, but…well, I thought you should know.” 
> 
> Something possesses her to surge forward and kiss his cheek. Every muscle in his body tenses up and he practically recoils away from her. The sting is all that she needed to bring the tears back, so she hides her face and darts for the door. This time, she opts for the privacy of her room, slamming the door shut and burying her face in a pillow to muffle the sound. 
> 
> She knows that they all want to understand, but nobody can. No one else can possibly know what it’s like to watch the other half of yourself suffer like this, to watch part of your own soul wrestle with new limitations that are only there because of you. 
> 
> Nobody knows what this kind of pain is like, and so there is nowhere for her to go. There’s no comfort for her here, so it won’t make much of a difference whether she’s not this base or at Hydra. The only person who it will affect is Fitz, and while he may not see it, she knows. 
> 
> It’ll help him in the long run, and all she wants is the knowledge that his eyes will light up again in this lifetime. It doesn’t matter whether or not she’s there to see it. 
> 
> When she’s all cried out and exhausted, she sends a secure message to Coulson. 
> 
> _Okay. I’m in._


	169. Craigslist and Concert Tickets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fitzsimmons + i was worried about buying something off of someone creepy from craigslist but oh no you’re hot

“I just thought you should know where I am, in case I go missing,” Jemma explains into the phone. Bobbi sighs. 

“Jemma, relax. People buy concert tickets off of Craigslist all the time.” 

“I’m just saying,” Jemma continues. “If you don’t hear from me in the next thirty minutes, call the police.” 

“Thirty minutes?” Bobbi teases. “Come on, Jemma. Your murder will take far less than that.” 

“Do you think it would?” Jemma asks worriedly. She considers this for a moment and screws up her face. “Oh, it really would, wouldn’t it? You really need to force me to go one of those self defense classes.” 

She can practically hear Bobbi’s eyes rolling. “Okay, Jemma, I’m heading back into work.” 

“Thirty minutes!” Jemma exclaims. 

Bobbi doesn’t respond, but Jemma knows she heard her as she hangs up her phone. Someone clears their throat and she spins around to see a man not much taller than her, looking rather amused. His hands are on his hips. 

“So I see I have thirty minutes before my photo is on the news,” he jokes. 

“Oh no,” Jemma breathes, cheeks heating up. His eyes are a startling shade of blue and the light grey of his crisp button down only emphasizes that. “I’m so sorry. It’s just…well, you never know with Craigslist, right?” 

He laughs and waves her off. “Honestly, don’t worry about it. I was kind of surprised to see you on your own.” 

He digs the concert tickets out of his pocket and hands them over. She grabs the cash out of her purse and gives it to him, a sudden warmth washing over her when their hands brush. She notices a folder poking out of his messenger bag–it reads M.I.T. and she suddenly feels far more comfortable around this young guy. 

“So,” Jemma says, feeling quite desperate all of a sudden to extend this interaction. “Do you really like The Cavalry?” 

“One of the best bands of our time,” he nods. “Well, I mean, technically the generation before us but still.” 

Jemma smiles and nods enthusiastically. “Oh, I absolutely agree! How come you’re selling the tickets then?” 

He shrugs. “I was going with my friend Hunter, but he works security for some crazy rich guy and the crazy rich guy planned a sudden vacation. No one else really wanted to go. Hope you have a great time though.”

She swallows, recognizing that he’s about to begin walking away. “What’s your name, by the way?” 

“Fitz,” he smiles easily. “And no, it’s not my first name, and no, I won’t tell it to you.” 

“Well, if we’re going to play it that way,” she teases. “Then I’m Simmons.” 

He shakes his head, amused. “Nice to meet you, Simmons. Enjoy the concert.” 

He turns to walk away down the street. She looks up at the sign for the coffee shop they agreed to meet in front of and calls out to him. 

“Hey! If I buy you a cup of coffee, can I try to figure out your first name?” 

He whirls around, looking dumbstruck. Her heart stops; maybe this is what Bobbi is always talking about when she says she “has no chill.” 

“That’d be…sure. I don’t have to be back at work for a bit.” 

She beams and leads the way into the shop. Neither one of them admits that they hate coffee, so they struggle to choke down lattes while they have a nice long chat about their respective jobs and backgrounds. 

She hopes that Bobbi will forgive her for giving her ticket back to Fitz at the end of their pseudo-date, with the agreement that they’ll have dinner “somewhere nice” and then go to the concert together. 

But Bobbi owes her. Jemma doesn’t text her until two hours after their phone call, and Bobbi never did call the cops.


	170. Glasses Are A Turn On (So Please Turn Them Off)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fitz forgets to take off/turn off the glasses on another undercover with Jemma...busted
> 
> Slightly mature content

It’s technically just a stake out. They’re at another transhumanist club, watching out for the reappearance of Dr. Radcliffe. Even Hive would have to recognize that Radcliffe is expected to be in certain places at certain times. To avoid suspicions, FitzSimmons can only assume that Hive will bring him to the locations and monitor him closely. 

Fitz clicks on his glasses as they wait, scanning the bar for any sight of him. He hears Mack in his ear. 

“I don’t see anything, Turbo. Just a whole lot of freaky people.” 

Fitz snorts, tightening his grip around Jemma’s shoulder. “Yeah, I don’t see any sign of him either.” 

“We’ll stick around for a couple hours,” Mack informs him. “If there’s still no sign, then we’ll pack it in and head home.” 

Fitz nods and, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jemma bite her lip in that half-shy kind of way that drives him crazy. He sighs heavily and she grins to herself, pleased. She’s been competitive since the day he met her, only back then she’d worn her hair in a high ponytail, way too much makeup on her young face, and had absolutely no idea the effect that she confusingly had on him. 

That was then, before the Chitauri virus, before he knew how he felt about her. He hadn’t been kidding with what he’d said their first night together. Ever since they…crossed the event horizon, they had reached the point of no return. 

But he supposes he probably, technically, reached the point of no return with Jemma Simmons a very, very long time ago. 

“You probably don’t really know you’ve reached a point of no return until you’ve already past it,” he muses aloud, quite suddenly. Jemma draws back, brow furrowed. 

“Fitz?” 

“What? Oh, yeah, sorry.” 

She grins at him, bemused and affectionate. She’s always looked at him this way but it’s only since said point of no return that he’s actually started to notice. He doesn’t even want to know what his moony puppy dog eyes must look like every time they fall on her. 

Jemma clicks off the comms with a flimsy excuse, yet again. She wraps her hands around his and pulls him toward one of the more private areas of the bar. Small plush couches surrounded by drapes, the purpose for which Fitz doesn’t want to think too much about–except for the fact that he has absolutely no objections to using this area for its exact intended purpose. 

So when Jemma shuts the drapes, he immediately clicks off the glasses. He goes to remove them completely but she shakes her head and keeps them in place. 

“Leave them on,” she murmurs, and if she asked him to pick up the nearest knife and stab himself in that tone of voice, he would do it. Nodding dumbly, his hands reach up into her blouse and soon he manages access with his lips. 

At some point while he’s exploring her cleavage, he must bump the side of the glasses. Jemma’s arm brushing against his neck must reactivate the comms. 

Because next thing they know, they hear Mack’s voice ringing loudly in their ears. 

“NO!” he shouts. “NO, STOP THAT!” 

They spring apart, practically purple. 

“I guess they know now,” Fitz says sheepishly. Jemma glares at him and Mack chuckles lightly in their ear. 

“C”mon Turbo, we’ve all known for a while now. I’d just really prefer if my eyes didn’t end up knowing Simmons quite so…biblically.” 

Fitz is pretty sure it’s not possible for Jemma to turn a brighter shade. He sincerely hopes blood is still flowing in the rest of her body. 

“And Simmons? If you’re really into this whole professor vibe he’s got going on, I’m sure we can find a pair of glasses not connected to my television.” 

Jemma recovers fairly quickly, flipping her hair even though he can’t actually see her. “Yes, well, there are also better places for you to liase with YoYo than in one of my containment modules.” 

“Hey!” Fitz objects. “Those are my containment modules.” 

“Oh, because you’re so fantastic with biology and biological samples–” 

“I’ll have you know I only had to spend three days designing those on my own–” 

Mack sighs heavily. “Fine. Go back to your freaky science sex. Just leave me out of this.” 


	171. Snakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: FitzSimmons + "Wow my pet snake looks so cute this morning and I’d be even happier if I actually had a pet snake."

Fitz moves around the kitchen as he normally does; nearly zombie-like, grunting and shuffling until he is fully caffeinated and fed. His movements are muscle-memory, and he hardly sees what’s in front of him. 

Fill the kettle. Click. Turn for bread. Open bread. Put in toaster. Click. Wait. 

While he leans back on the counter and watches the toaster, he notices something in the corner of his eye. In his hazy state, he nearly misses it–but then the snake curls up into a ball on the rug, rather contentedly, and he smiles slightly. 

“Aw,” he mumbles. “Cute.”

But then he remembers that he doesn’t actually have a pet snake, and that pretty much all reptilian creatures have always given him a very creepy vibe. A scream–approaching a squeal, if he’s honest–slips from his mouth and he clasps his hands over it quickly, eyes wide. He’s not sure if snakes can hear, but he doesn’t want to alert it of his presence. 

He fumbles for his phone on the counter and opens up his web browser, typing in a few erratic searches. 

_Can snakes hear?_

_What kind of snake is in my apartment?_

_How did it get here?_

Of course, google can’t answer any of these questions for him with the exception of whether or not snakes can hear. A knock on his door makes him jump, and he puts a hand on his chest, rubbing over his heart with a weary expression on his face.

His scream has obviously alerted one of the neighbors and they’ve come to check on him. To get to the door, he’ll have to walk past the snake. If he doesn’t go to the door, the neighbors may call the police–possibly a good thing, because then the police can remove the trespassing snake. 

But then he remembers that his friend Trip is currently on-duty at the local precinct, and he doesn’t think he can live down one more embarrassing moment. Getting his hand stuck in the vending machine at work had been enough for a lifetime.

He dashes past the snake on the tips of his toes, looking over his shoulders to ensure that it hasn’t followed him. The snake remains happily burrowed in the rug, and Fitz sighs in relief as he swings open the door. 

In his urgent haste, he hadn’t even remembered that he’s wearing pajama pants and no shirt, but the expression on her face immediately alerts him of this fact. He flushes, both his face and his chest turning a light shade of pink, and he notices a blush blooming on her cheeks as well. 

“Hi,” the woman says. “I heard a scream and thought–” 

“Thanks for checking,” he interrupts. “I’m really fine. Just a snake in my house. But it’s fine. I–killed it.”

It’s a lie, obviously, and he really hopes that this beautiful English woman doesn’t notice the animal control workers that he plans on calling up to deal with the snake in his living room.

Her eyes widen and then brighten with tears, an unexpected development in an otherwise good plan to impress her. 

“Oh no,” she whimpers. “I think that was my snake.” 

“Your… _your_ snake?” he asks incredulously. “Um, what kind of snake do you have?” 

“He’s a corn snake,” she sniffles. He bites his lip, urging his sleep-addled mind to think as quickly as possible.

“And that’s what kind exactly?” 

“He’s orange,” she explains. “Fairly small.” 

“Oh see, well!” Fitz exclaims, reaching out for her and then thinking better of it. “The snaked I killed was a, um, a brown one. So definitely not the same snake.” 

She tilts her head to the side, looking puzzled. “I can’t imagine why there would be another snake in our building.” 

He shrugs as nonchalantly as possible. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t you tell me what unit is yours and if I see an orange snake, I’ll bring it up to you.” 

She smiles brightly at him, relief evident on her features. “Okay. Yes. That sounds good. I’m in 3C, just upstairs. And my name is Jemma, by the way.” 

He smiles as widely as he can at this hour, but it still feels a little bit like he’s just baring his teeth at her. “Fitz. Nice to meet you, Jemma.” 

Then he’s stuck waiting for an entire hour with a snake in his apartment, since he can’t just run back up there with her snake. After an appropriate amount of time has passed, he changes into some actual clothes and prepares to go up to her apartment. 

Only then does he realize he’s going to have to handle the snake to bring it to her. He could just go get her and have her deal with the slippery little bastard herself, but he also doesn’t want to appear like he’s scared of this corn snake.

He’s done his research. They’re mostly friendly. 

Steeling himself, he bends down and reaches for the snoozing snake. He withdraws his hands once, twice, three times before he finally grits his teeth and just grabs it. The snake startles awake with a hiss and nearly bites him, and he finds himself shrieking one more time. For some reason that he doesn’t quite understand, the snake decides he’s not an enemy and wraps itself around Fitz’s forearm. 

It’s not the most pleasant feeling in the world, but Jemma from 3D is really, _really_ cute, so he can bear it. He takes the stairs two at a time, eager to get this thing off of his arm. He knocks on her door and she swings it open, now in a pair of yoga pants and exercise top. He’s immediately distracted by this fact, his brain practically short-circuiting as she unwinds her snake from his body. 

“Oooh, thank you!” she coos happily. “How on Earth did you manage that?” 

Now she’s talking to the snake, of course, but he just stands there watching her reunite with her pet. 

“Really, thank you so much,” she gushes, finally looking up at him. He shrugs, trying to pretend as though these last few minutes of holding a snake haven’t been agonizing. 

“It’s no problem.” 

“Would you like to come in?” she offers, jerking her head back into her apartment. “I’m just making some lunch now.” 

His stomach grumbles and he realizes he’d never actually gotten around to eating, what with all the snake drama. Nodding eagerly, he follows behind her. It turns out she makes some amazing sandwiches with pesto aioli, and she’s also one of the strangest, funniest, most brilliant women he’s ever met. 

So when, for some strange reason, she asks for his phone number–he’s only too happy to give it to her. He’s not the biggest fan of the pet snake thing, but hey–without that little orange jerk, he never would have met her. 


	172. Saving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: FitzSimmons + "I don't need saving"

> Fitz grins at the pretty girl across from him who is, for some strange reason, laughing at all of his very, very bad jokes. He’s self-aware enough to know that his bit about Mickey Mouse, Pluto, and Goofy isn’t exactly gold-medal material. 
> 
> The girl leans forward and places her hand on his forearm. “Do you want to get out of here? I live nearby.” 
> 
> Suddenly a pair of thin, familiar arms wrap around his neck. Jemma’s lips press against the spot just below his ear, and despite his annoyance, he feels a shiver run down his spine. 
> 
> The girl he’d been talking to widens her pretty blue eyes and shakes her head, withdrawing her hand as though she’s been burned. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea that you were…with someone.” 
> 
> _Neither did I_ , Fitz thinks bitterly. Jemma smiles brightly, her chin notched on his shoulder. 

> “No harm no foul,” she grins, but there’s something dark in her eyes, and the other woman notices what Fitz can’t see. She scampers off and Fitz immediately untangles himself from Jemma’s grip. 
> 
> “What the hell are you doing?” he practically barks. She withdraws with a furrowed brow, head tilted in confusion in the way that he’s always found infuriatingly adorable.
> 
> “Saving you,” she answers slowly, as though she’s explaining something to one of her second grade students. 
> 
> That’s how they’d met. They both teach at the same elementary school, in the second grade. When she’d first arrived, they’d been in a bit of a competition to be the favorite amongst the seven year olds. Well, _she_ had been competing; _he_ had just been trying to impress her. Somewhere along the line, though, they became the best of friends. 
> 
> At least, he was her best friend. To him, she was more than that. 
> 
> Which is why this display is so frustrating for him; he’s been making a concentrated effort to get over her for months now and she just will not seem to let him. 
> 
> “I don’t need saving,” he says through gritted teeth. “Why would you think I did?” 
> 
> She blinks, licking her lips and then looking away from him. “I…well, I’m not sure.” 
> 
> “I don’t think we should go out together anymore,” he tells her seriously. “Every time I almost get somewhere with someone–” 
> 
> Jemma scoffs. “Is this what you want? Random hookups from the bar?!” 
> 
> “What if it is?” he challenges. He’s had enough to drink to fight back, but not enough to get mean. “Why would it even matter to you?”
> 
> “Because–because–” 
> 
> He watches her struggle and feels a pang of guilt for pressing her. Her eyes begin to glisten and his gut twists. She clears her throat. 
> 
> “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” 
> 
> She pushes past him, snatching her purse off of the booth where she’d left it with Bobbi, a fifth grade teacher, and Daisy, the computer instructor. Jemma storms out of the bar so quickly he almost doesn’t catch her, but he manages to intercept her on the sidewalk, about a hundred feet away from the door. 
> 
> “Jemma!” he calls out. “Jemma!” 
> 
> She whirls around, short hair in disarray. There are tears on her cheeks now and he’s not sure how they got to this point. He doesn’t want to feel sorry for her, not when she’s the one who’s been destroying all of his romantic prospects for months now, directly or indirectly. 
> 
> “What the hell is going on?” he demands, but it comes out as a half-whisper when he finally reaches her. “Why are you so upset?” 
> 
> She gulps, brushing angrily at the tears on her face. She’s never liked it when people see her cry. 
> 
> “I know you don’t need saving,” she finally says. She stares at a spot just over his shoulder. “It’s _me_ who needs saving.” 
> 
> “From what?” he asks, dumbfounded by her statement. In all the years he’s known Jemma Simmons–almost six, now–he’s never known her to need saving. 
> 
> “From being head over heels for you,” she admits in a mumble, shifting her gaze to her shoes. He’s not sure he’s heard her correctly. In fact, he’s certain he hasn’t. She takes his surprised, confused silence to be something else, and she squares her shoulders, finally looking him in the face. 
> 
> “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry that I’ve been getting in your way. It ends tonight, I promise. Maybe you can still find that blonde–” 
> 
> She says that blonde with such repressed rage that it suddenly occurs to him that he did hear her right. 
> 
> Jemma Simmons is head over heels for him.
> 
> So he does the only thing that his euphoric brain and pounding heart are capable of. He grabs her around the waist and pulls her in for a kiss, nearly bruising at first but yielding to something much softer. 
> 
> When she pulls away, hope in her eyes, he can’t help but shrug with a teasing little smile.
> 
> “Brunettes were always more my type.” 


	173. Bonfires (Post Season 3 Canon Divergent)

> “I was surprised that this was your idea,” Jemma says quietly. Her knee knocks against his and he smirks, gazing into the fire. 
> 
> “I’ve always liked camping,” he grumbles. He fiddles with the label on his beer bottle, foot tapping to the beat of whatever song Lincoln is playing on an acoustic guitar. They learn more and more about their new teammate every day. His attempt to valiantly sacrifice himself for Daisy–and for the whole world, really–had left them all shaken, Daisy most of all. 
> 
> The woman in question sits close by, on the ground near his legs. She stares into the fire, that same distant look in her eyes, but at least there are no pained lines in her face. Jemma has grown fearful of the extent of Daisy’s pain.
> 
> She’s been to that brink herself, perhaps even more than once, if she really wanted to be honest about it. Most days, she doesn’t. 

> Jemma shifts her attention back to her conversation with Fitz. “That is patently untrue.” 
> 
> He shakes his head with a rueful little smile. “Fair point, but that was also before I had SHIELD resources to design the ultimate camping machine.” 
> 
> Jemma turns to stare at their incredibly high-tech, bullet proof RV. “Fitz, do not–” 
> 
> “Have I mentioned that there’s an escape vehicle located–” 
> 
> “Yes,” Jemma cuts him off. “Yes, you have. More than once, actually.” 
> 
> He looks bashful. “Right, sorry. I guess I’m still excited, to be making things again.” 
> 
> She frowns and he clarifies. 
> 
> “Making things for the right reasons, I mean.” 
> 
> “What do you mean?” 
> 
> “When you were…gone, I spent most of my time trying to find you and the rest trying to prove to Coulson that I was still a valuable member of the team. So I designed the Zephyr, created decoy splinter flash bombs, new gauntlets for Daisy, the new containment modules…anything to prove he still needed me, because I knew I would never be able to find you if I was discharged from SHIELD.” 
> 
> “Oh, Fitz,” she sighs. He looks away from her with a gulp.
> 
> “Don’t. Don’t do that. I don’t need you pitying me.” 
> 
> “I’m not!” she denies vehemently. “I just…” 
> 
> She trails off and he instinctively reaches out to squeeze her knee in a show of comfort. 
> 
> “I just mean that–I’m so sorry,” she says. Her voice is hardly audible, even in the relative silence of the campground. 
> 
> “What?” 
> 
> “I’m sorry,” she repeats more firmly. “I’m sorry that I didn’t hold on longer. If I had just–” 
> 
> “We still would have gone back for him,” Fitz insists. “Even if–that’s not who we are, Jemma. In a strange way, I was glad to hear what had happened, between you and him. I’d–well, it was much better than the horrible things I’d imagined happening to you, on that planet all alone.” 
> 
> Her expression softens, tears glistening in her eyes. “I hope you know that I love you, Fitz.” 
> 
> He smiles crookedly. “Of course I do. I figured that one out when you had one two many at the Boiler Room and wouldn’t stop telling people how much you just love, love, loved me.” 
> 
> She swats at him, blinking back the tears from her eyes as he effortlessly shifts the conversation away from the things that hurt. This is how they are coping. They are taking things piece by piece, slowly approaching each bruise and dent and repairing it before moving onto the next one. 
> 
> It’s the same way her father had always fixed cars. 
> 
> “I love you best,” she says sincerely. She leans up to kiss him, one hand buried in the hair at the back of his neck. When she pulls away, his face is completely relaxed. “I always did.” 
> 
> “I know,” he agrees.
> 
> And to her surprise, he actually means it, and she actually believes it, and maybe this is what it means to become unbroken. Maybe this is what it means to begin all over again. 
> 
> Across the campfire, Lincoln sets the guitar aside to run his hands through Daisy’s hair. He leans forward to whisper something into her ear, and for a brief moment, Jemma sees a flash of a smile on her friend’s lips. 
> 
> Jemma remembers those harrowing days after her return from Maveth. It had been nothing like what Daisy had gone through–but she can understand the guilt, the shame, the fear, the isolation. 
> 
> Jemma is healing piece by piece. She has faith that Daisy will, too. 
> 
> Fitz stands and Jemma lets him tug her upward by her hands. She follows him into the RV, giving Lincoln and Daisy some alone time in front of the fire. When they crawl into bed, he smells like the smoke of the bonfire, his lips still holding a hint of graham cracker, marshmallow, and chocolate. 
> 
> She loves him best. She loves him most. 
> 
> And he knows. 
> 
> So she sleeps easy. 


	174. Protective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I just can't stop thinking about that scene where FItz snaps at Lincoln and says "we're fine" and could you write a reversal scene of this, where Fitz actually asks Lincoln to help? He's a medical doctor, after all and FItz isn't.

> Protecting Jemma is an instinct to him. Perhaps even more than an instinct–more like a reflex. Any threat to her is like a doctor banging that little rubber gavel on a knee. Just like his leg kicks out during a reflex test, his temper flares whenever something bad happens to her. 
> 
> Being blown back away from her, opening his eyes in rubble to find her–it had been entirely too reminiscent of that brief moment when he thought he’d lost her in their return through the portal. 
> 
> So when Lincoln, the possible source of the evil Fitz was trying to protect her from, offered his concerned help, he can’t help but snap at him. He’d always been a rather meek child, muttering his comebacks under his breath. That had changed at the Academy–it had changed when he met Jemma, really. 
> 
> But now they’re back in his bunk and even though she’s just kissed him nearly senseless, he notices why she pulls back. Jemma has always had a talent for hiding her pain. She escapes before the tears come and has mastered the art of the poker face, at least when it comes to convincing the world that she is not injured. He’d seen it at SciOps, when she’d been in the lab with appendicitis for nearly three hours before he’d finally figured out something was wrong and frog-marched her to the hospital. 
> 
> “Jemma,” he says as her breath hitches. He’d like to believe that she’s just that overcome by finally being together, but he’s also not an idiot–she’s obviously in pain. “Are you alright?” 
> 
> She smiles again, but it’s not as radiant as it had been when she’d told him they couldn’t waste any more time. “I’m just fine, Fitz.” 
> 
> He studies her carefully and he notes the concentrated effort she makes to school her face into a neutral expression. “I’ll go get Lincoln.” 

> “What?” she gasps. “But Fitz–” 
> 
> “If he’s the one doing all of this,” Fitz says, waving his hand around, “then–well, let’s just hope he likes us enough not to kill us. But in the meantime, you need to get looked at.” 
> 
> “I’m a doctor, too, Fitz.” 
> 
> He glares at her. “Not the right kind.” 
> 
> “I might as well be!” 
> 
> “Even real doctors shouldn’t examine themselves,” he reminds her. “If I recall, it was you who said that to your father after that nasty fall on the skating rink.” 
> 
> “Well, that was completely different,” she rambles. “My father is an immunologist, not an orthopedist, and he clearly had some sort of fracture–” 
> 
> “Jemma,” Fitz cuts her off. She blinks up at him innocently, as if she hadn’t been trying to bait him into an argument to avoid medical treatment. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go find him.” 
> 
> “Be careful,” she rushes to say as he stands. 
> 
> He snorts. “He’s somewhere in the base.” 
> 
> She frowns. “Which is exactly what I’m afraid of.” 
> 
> He decides not to say anything to that. She has a point, and like many arguments they’ve had over the years, he’s sure he’ll lose this one. As he walks past, she grabs his pant leg. He looks down at her in surprise, finding her eyes glistening. 
> 
> “It hurts,” she admits. He nods and crouches down to kiss her dirty, sweaty forehead once more. It’s kind of gross, but if it’s any comfort to her, he’ll keep doing it. 
> 
> “I know. I’m going to get some help.” 
> 
> She nods and squeezes his arm. He glances back at the door, noting how she finally lets herself be vulnerable when she thinks he’s gone. Her head falls back against his mattress, a little moan of pain slipping from her lips. Her eyes screw shut and he turns away–he can’t bear to look at her like this, and maybe she knows that. Maybe it’s why she hardly ever shows him, if there’s anything she can do to help it. 
> 
> He sets off to find Lincoln and make things right. 
> 
> *** 
> 
> He finds Lincoln pacing amongst Daisy and the other Inhumans. Elena immediately whirls on him, speaking rapid and angry Spanish. He picked up enough of the language in his hunt for Jemma that he can at least tell she’s really, _really_ pissed off. 
> 
> “Fitz,” Joey says. “Does this mean we can leave?” 
> 
> Fitz winces apologetically. “That’s…not exactly my call to make. But I need Lincoln.” 
> 
> Daisy glares at him accusingly. Not for the first time, Fitz marvels at the distance that is now between them. “Why? Do you think he’s the one doing this?” 
> 
> Fitz holds his hands up in surrender. Standing in a room full of agitated, possibly mind-controlled and murderous Inhumans isn’t exactly comforting, but he has to trust that these people are still his team. More than that, he has to trust that Lincoln’s new bond with Jemma will be enough. 
> 
> “Look, I’m not authorized to be in here. And I know I was an ass to you, but Jemma–”
> 
> “What’s wrong with Dr. Simmons?” Elena cuts in before he can finish. Fitz looks over at her in surprise. 
> 
> “She was hurt in the explosion,” he explains. Elena whips her head back to Lincoln. 
> 
> “You must help her.” 
> 
> Fitz isn’t sure when, exactly, Elena became the president of the Jemma Simmons fan club, but Jemma does tend to spend more time with the Secret Warriors than he does. 
> 
> “Of course,” Lincoln agrees immediately. “And–it’s fine, about before.” 
> 
> Fitz shakes his head and then jerks his hand toward the hallway. “We need to go before Coulson realizes I’m in here.” 
> 
> Lincoln nods and follows him quickly. He hears Daisy try to protest, but Fitz doesn’t have time to think about why Daisy is suddenly so unconcerned for the well-being of a good friend. 
> 
> He and Lincoln hustle down the hall, Fitz struggling to keep up with the doctor’s long legs. 
> 
> “Really, Lincoln,” he tries again. “I just–she’d been hurt, and when something happens to her it’s like…it’s like I become a different person.” 
> 
> Lincoln freezes and Fitz nearly collides with him. He turns to Fitz with a serious expression, staring him dead in the eyes. 
> 
> “I get it. Probably more than anyone. I wanted to help earlier because she’s my friend, and you are too, but I get it. I really do. So let’s just…put it behind us and fix it.” 
> 
> Fitz nods, licking his lips for lack of anything to say. When they reach his bunk, Jemma has slumped over almost completely. For a heart-stopping moment, Fitz thinks she may not even be breathing. 
> 
> “Jemma?” Lincoln says, just loud enough for her to hear him without being jarring. “Hey, Jemma. It’s me. What’s going on?” 
> 
> “My stomach,” she practically whines. Her hands rests on a spot on her abdomen, toward her side, and Lincoln kneels beside her. He gently lifts her top and notes the bruising with a low hum. 
> 
> “This doesn’t look great,” he tells her. “Obviously, in better circumstances, I would put you in a CT but–” 
> 
> “We can’t do that,” she agrees. “I’m sure it’s nothing, but–” 
> 
> “Stop,” he chides her affectionately. “I can tell from looking at it that this hurts like hell.” 
> 
> “It really does,” she admits weakly. 
> 
> “Hey Fitz, run to the lab for me?” Lincoln asks. His eyes are guarded, obviously expecting Fitz to be unwilling to leave Jemma alone with him despite their earlier conversation. “I would get the meds myself, but I’m kind of a wanted man.” 
> 
> Fitz barks out a laugh. “What do you need?” 
> 
> He rattles off a long list of medication names that Fitz can hardly remember. Jemma senses his hestitation and rolls her eyes. 
> 
> “Red, blue, and yellow tubes on shelf 3C,” she tells him. 
> 
> “Got it,” he confirms, darting out to the lab. He grabs the medications as quickly as he can, nearly knocking all of the glassware over in the process. He hadn’t liked how serious Lincoln had sounded, and knowing that they’re not in a position to provide her with everything she needs–well, that reflex is coming back.
> 
> But at least Lincoln is with her, now, and Fitz knows deep down in his bones that he’ll protect her from whatever might come in his absence. 
> 
> When he skids back into the room just a few minutes later, Lincoln speaks to Jemma in low, comforting tones. Fitz hands him the medications and watches as he injects one after the other into various parts of Jemma’s body. 
> 
> Her face slackens, and Lincoln brushes one hand over her head. “Better?” 
> 
> “Much. Thank you, Dr. Campbell.” 
> 
> She says it with a teasing grin, and he shoots one back. “You’re welcome, Dr. Dr. Simmons.” 
> 
> He stands and brushes his hands on his pants. “I’ve got to get back to my cell,” he jokes. “I’d hate for the Director to have your head for letting me out.” 
> 
> “I wish I could–” Fitz starts, but he’s not sure how to finish it. Lincoln nods. 
> 
> “I know. Come break me out again if anything changes.” 
> 
> He leaves, and Fitz helps Jemma into his bed and takes her shoes off. 
> 
> Lincoln Campbell is a good doctor and a good friend. He tells himself that he won’t forget that ever again. 


	175. I Feel God In This Chili's Tonight (A Workplace AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you write some au where jemma takes care of drunk fitz, and fitz is being all like “jemma you are so beautiful do you know you are beautiful?” and he’s just endlessly compliments her and she listens to his mumbling all way home?
> 
>  
> 
> Based loosely on Jim/Pam from the Office

> “I feel God in this Chili’s tonight,” Fitz says solemnly as he holds up his fake award. Jemma hides her grin behind her hand, shaking her head at her best friend. She’s never seen him quite this drunk before–and their office awards party was the last place she expected to see this. 
> 
> Although, to be fair, surviving Phil Coulson’s Golden SHIELD Awards _does_ tend to require a copious amount of alcohol. The goofy manager of SHIELD Security Systems hosts them every single year. Fitz has just accepted the award for “Best Pair of Hands” which, she must admit, she agrees with. 
> 
> Skye from investigations leans over the table and winks at her. “I bet you could be feeling more than God in this Chili’s tonight.” 
> 
> “Skye!” Jemma gasps. “We’re _friends_!” 
> 
> Fitz stumbles off of the makeshift stage in the restaurant and Jemma stands to help him back to his seat, laughing all the while. 
> 
> Then Fitz excitedly leans forward and kisses her. 

> It’s over just around the time she realizes it’s even happening. It’s quick, but it’s also in front of everyone they know. She doesn’t even want to take a glance at Skye, but as soon as Jemma sits down beside Fitz, Skye leans forward. 
> 
> “Friends, my sweet ass.” 
> 
> Jemma shushes her and tries to focus on the rest of the Golden SHIELD Awards, but even her boss’s antics can’t seem to get her mind off of what just happened. 
> 
> She knows they have chemistry. She’s always known that. Lately she’s started to suspect that maybe–just possibly–he has a crush on her. After recently ending a relationship with one of the guys who works in Manufacturing, she’s tentative to jump into anything too fast.
> 
> But she’s known him for years, and he’s the first person she wants to talk to every day. 
> 
> When the awards are over, she can’t recall who won what anymore. As always, she’d won the award for Best Scrabble Player. 
> 
> “You can get him home, right?” Melinda May asks carefully as Fitz loudly explains to Lincoln that he rode his bike. Jemma sighs and nods. 
> 
> “He lives just down the road from me. I’m walking, so I’ll just–” 
> 
> “Make sure he doesn’t get on that bike,” Melinda finishes. Jemma makes a noise of agreement and approaches Fitz. 
> 
> “Come on, Fitz. Time to head home.” 
> 
> “Jemma!” he proclaims loudly. “Jemma, you are _beautiful._ ” 
> 
> Lincoln snorts and picks up Fitz’s bike with one hand. “I’m gonna throw this in my truck and bring it to work tomorrow.” 
> 
> “Thank you,” Jemma says sweetly. Fitz throws an arm around her as they make their way down the sidewalk. 
> 
> “You’re the greatest. Has anyone ever told you that you’re just the greatest?” he slurs. Jemma fights against the flush blooming on her cheeks. 
> 
> “Sure, Fitz.” 
> 
> “Don’t say it like that!” he exclaims in protest. “I mean it!” 
> 
> “If you breathed to close to a fire right now, you could burn down this entire town,” she retorts. He rolls his eyes. 
> 
> “Jemma, Jemma, Jemma. I’m Scottish. I can hold my liquor just fine.” 
> 
> “You were feeling God in the Chili’s tonight,” she reminds him. 
> 
> “Only if God’s name is Jemma Simmons,” he says immediately. Her eyes widen and she nearly stops walking. He waggles his eyebrows. “That was a good one, wasn’t it?” 
> 
> She’s mortified by how smitten she is with this hot mess of a man. She smacks him with a frown. “Ugh, Fitz!” 
> 
> “In all cereal-ness,” he says. Then he crinkles his brow in though. “Cereal…Serious! Seriousness! In all seriousness, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” 
> 
> She bites down hard on her lip and lets him continue. 
> 
> “Like…who did that? Who made you like that?” 
> 
> “My parents,” she says wryly. He ignores her. 
> 
> “Your eyes are like–like Bambi eyes, you know what I mean? The Bambi animal.” 
> 
> “A deer.” 
> 
> “A deer! And you _are_ a dear. You’re so sweet. And nice. Well, kind of mean, sometimes, but only cause you’re so competitive. You just like winning, which is really very cute in a scary sort of way.” 
> 
> She opens her mouth to cut him off, but this only seems to distract him further. 
> 
> “Your mouth!” he shouts. “What is going on with your mouth?! Your lips are like…like…candy pillows.” 
> 
> She shakes her head and sighs heavily. “Alright, Fitzy, why don’t we play the quiet game for a while.” 
> 
> “I’ve always kinda liked it when you call me that,” he confides in a stage whisper. 
> 
> “I know,” she stage whispers back. They share a look and then he groans, putting his hands on his hips and leaning toward the bushes. 
> 
> “I think I’m gonna be sick.” 
> 
> “Good news is, this is your building,” she soothes, rubbing his back. “Do you want me to come in with you?” 
> 
> He nods weakly and she smiles softly, taking the keys out of his pocket and doing her best to ignore the little strangled noise he makes when she does. She lets them in and sets about getting him some water and saltines, placing an Advil on his nightstand. 
> 
> He sits heavily in bed and starts taking his clothes off, getting completely tangled in his shirt. She laughs and turns around to help him out. When he emerges, tousled and bright eyed, she feels the nearly irresistible urge to take off her own shirt and join him.
> 
> But he’s drunk, and he’s her best friend, and he’s not going to remember any of what he said tomorrow. So instead she leans forward, kisses his forehead, and wishes him a goodnight.
> 
> The next morning, he shows up at work an hour late, wearing sunglasses and looking like a mess. She immediately goes to the kitchen and brings him a cup of black tea and a sparkling water, dropping both next to his computer and resuming her spot at her workstation across from him. 
> 
> “You’re brilliant,” he sighs gratefully. “Thank you.” 
> 
> “You’re welcome, dear,” she can’t help but tease–it’s half joke, half helpless inquiry into what he remembers. 
> 
> “Are you calling me a Bambi animal?” he replies, an embarrassed grin playing on his face. She beams back at him.
> 
> “So you do remember.” 
> 
> He lifts the bottle of Perrier to his lips and takes a long sip. “Every word, unfortunately.” 
> 
> “Maybe we should uh–talk about it.” 
> 
> He puts the green glass down on his desk and quickly evades her gaze. “There’s nothing to discuss, Jemma.” 
> 
> She reaches across the table and grabs his hand before he can get up to escape her. 
> 
> “Maybe there is.” 
> 
> He looks up at her, speechless and hopeful. He opens his mouth to say something, anything at all, when he’s interrupted. 
> 
> “Conference room, everyone!” Phil Coulson announces with a clap of his hands. Fitz groans, rolling his head back. 
> 
> “Later,” Jemma promises. She throws him a wink and he tiredly returns it, following her into the conference room as Hunter teases him for last night’s performance. 
> 
> There are worse places to work. 


	176. Amnesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: FitzSimmons + waking up with amnesia AU
> 
> So I took this in kind of an interesting direction (I hope), going off of the theories about Maveth altering your memories. This might be a little angstier than it was intended to be. A canon-divergent ficlet following Jemma’s return from Maveth:

When Jemma wakes up, she looks inexplicably mortified. Her cheeks darken to a deep pink. 

“Fitz!” she gasps. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I must have fallen asleep, and–” 

Fitz frowns. “Hey, Jemma, shh. It’s okay. You need rest.” 

She sits up quickly, patting her hair urgently. Her fingers thread through the longer strand as confusion plays on her features. “That’s…not right.” 

“Jemma…?” 

“My hair,” she whispers. “How did it–why did–” 

“Bobbi brushed the rocks out,” he reminds her gently. “Remember?” 

She shakes her head. “What rocks? Fitz, what are you talking about?” 

It dawns on him, heart clenching tightly in his chest. “What’s the last thing you remember?” 

The urgency with which he asks her startles her. It seems that she finally recognizes that she is not, in fact, in her bunk. She’s in an unfamiliar room, with honey-comb walls. 

“I was in the lab,” she explains, her voice cracking. “Well, the Monolith containment room. I was finishing up doing some readings and then I was going to go get ready for our–for our date, so I think–I must have gone back to my room and fallen asleep–” 

He gulps, pain flashing in his eyes. She finally takes a good look at his face.

“Your–your face,” she stutters out. Her hand trembles as she reaches out to touch the scruff on his cheek. “This–it wasn’t–” 

“No,” he says softly. He reaches up to hold the hand pressed against his face. “Jemma, you–you were gone, for a long time.” 

“How long?” she asks. He shuts his eyes and she squeezes his hand urgently. Tears fill her eyes and she demands an answer. “How long, Fitz?” 

“Six months,” he mutters. She gasps, wrenching her hand back as if she’s been burned. He opens his eyes, watching as she retreats against the wall. 

“No,” she whimpers. “No, no, no.” 

“Jemma, I’m so sorry,” he says softly. He moves a bit closer to her, cautiously, and feels relieved when she reaches for him. He shifts from his seat beside the cot to sitting right beside her. He gathers her up in his arms and she turns to cry into his neck. 

“I missed–I missed–” 

He expects her to say _everything_. There are so many things that she’s missed in six months. But the words she chooses surprise him most. 

“I missed our date,” she finally sniffs. 

He can’t help it. He bursts out laughing. 

She pulls back in surprise, aghast that he could possibly find this humorous. 

“I’ll tell you what,” he finally manages when he’s calmed from his hysterics. “I’ll forgive your lateness and we’ll go as soon as Coulson and Garner give you the go-ahead.” 

A small smile plays on her lips despite the fear still in her eyes. “Okay.” 

“We have to figure out what happened to you,” he tells her quietly. She moves to lay with her head in his lap. He stiffens briefly but then relaxes, and one of her hands comes up to squeeze his leg. It’s the other one, the one she hadn’t used to cup his cheek, and she freezes when something clatters to the floor. 

“Why do I have that?” she asks softly. A weapon of some kind, apparently homemade, lays on the floor. It looks as though it’s been widdled from a human bone.

“I don’t know,” he tells her honestly. His fingers run through her hair, a comforting gesture that she so desperately needs. “But I promise you we’re going to figure this out, okay?” 

“Together?” 

“Together.” 


	177. Over Caffeinated Freak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fitzsimmons and 'we were studying across from each other in the library not acknowledging each other for hours and you passed out and fell onto my book so i’m screwed au'

She’d plopped down at his table around eleven o’clock in the morning. Fitz had only glanced up briefly, recognizing her as a fellow junior, friends with Fitz’s roommate’s on-again-off-again girlfriend, Bobbi Morse. 

She’d shot him a warning look–during finals week, the library becomes so incredibly crowded that the seat across from him may just be the only open spot. Digging his earbuds deeper into his ears, he’d returned his focus to fighting his way through a political theory study guide. Occasionally, he would look up from his laptop just to look at her, noting her pretty face, nice hair, and that she had obvious bags under her eyes. The thermos she pulled out of her bag smelled strongly of coffee, which sort of rolled his stomach, but he’d opted against saying anything. 

Around 6 p.m., she’d moved over to his side of the table to plug her computer in to the outlet in the wall beside him. If he’d found her distracting before, it was even worse when he could smell her shampoo. 

All of that, though, was well and fine. He’d been going to school with girls his entire life and a pretty girl wasn’t enough to prevent him from memorizing the key differences between Hobbes and Locke. 

Then she suddenly falls over, face buried in his textbook. He sighs, slumping backward and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. HIs exam is tomorrow afternoon and he hadn’t exactly started preparing until today. His fellow classmates had been at it for weeks, and judging by Kara Palamas’s color coded flashcards, he’s screwed. 

She sighs in her sleep, hugging the book and tugging it underneath her even further. 

“Shit,” he whispers under his breath. He studies her from as many angles as possible, trying to work out how–if at all–he’s ever going to get his book back. 

Ordinarily, he would just wake her up. It’s what he would do to anyone else. But she’d looked so _exhausted_ all day, and she obviously needs the rest. Maybe it’s his own sleep deprivation making him weak, but he finds himself unwilling to move her. 

He leans back in his chair and picks up his notebook. He’ll just read his notes until she’s awake. Sure, they’re not quite as informative as his book, given his tendency to daydream during lectures, but it’s certainly better than nothing. 

Then one hour goes by.

And another. 

And halfway into the third, she jolts awake. There’s a bit of drool on one of the pages and he grimaces.

Charming. 

She blinks, bleary with sleep, and when she comes to her senses, she glares at him in a huff. 

“You let me _sleep_?! During _finals_?!” 

His jaw drops. “You fell asleep on the book that I was very much still using, thanks. I just thought I would do the polite thing and–” 

“And let me lose valuable study time?” she hisses. “I can’t believe you!” 

Now he’s openly gawking, unable to control the volume of his voice. “You’re mental!” 

“Me?” she gasps. “You apparently think it’s perfectly fine to sleep for hours in the library during the most important–” 

“You’re actually yelling at me for being concerned about your well being–” 

“–week of the year. You’re completely irresponsible!” 

“–you over-caffeinated freak!” 

“That’s it,” the friendly desk assistant, Trip, interrupts. “Enough. You’re both out.” 

Jemma looks like she might burst into tears at any moment. “Trip…” 

“You’ve lost it, Simmons,” he says with a sympathetic smile. “Go home. Get some sleep.” 

With shaking hands, she gathers her things. Whatever tenderness he’d felt toward her rears its ugly head once more. She shakes her head rapidly, big brown eyes shining. 

“I can’t. I have to–I can’t just–I don’t know enough. I don’t know enough!” 

Trip purses his lips sympathetically. He looks like he might change his mind, but then Skye Johnson bounces up to him and he loses all focus. 

“Hey,” Fitz says softly. “Look, my roommate isn’t home tonight. He’s–well, he’s actually at your apartment, I think. So why don’t you come over and we’ll pull an all-nighter.” 

“Do you have coffee?” she asks hopefully. 

He screws up his face in disgust. “No, of course I don’t.” 

Her face falls. 

“But Hunter does,” he offers. “I’m sure he drinks enough of yours at home.” 

She brightens, grabbing her books off of the table and holding them close to her chest. “Lead the way. And um…I’m sorry for…before. I’m…well, I get intense this time of year.” 

Fitz rolls his eyes. “Intense? Really? I hadn’t noticed.” 

She shoves him and they walk side by side out of the library. 

And that’s when Skye bets Trip ten bucks that they’ll be sleeping together by the end of the month. He takes that bet, wagering that it’ll be three months.

They’re both wrong. It takes six before they finally hook up, another two after that before they finally admit that they’re actually dating. 

(And when Jemma finds out that Hunter won the entire pool that had accumulated, a cool $200, she’d promptly nicked it from his bedroom).


	178. Widget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hollywood AU + picking out Widget

“Fitz, where are we going?” 

It’s the third–maybe the fourth, actually, he’s lost count–time she’s asked him this. Traffic crawls along the 405, as per usual, and she’s becoming more and more impatient with him. 

It’s been several weeks since the Will Daniels Is Married reveal. For the first few of them, she’d hidden in her bedroom in a pair of Fitz’s old sweatpants. She’d wallowed and shouted and gone through all of the stages of grief that Fitz supposes she went through when Penny died. 

As usual, he feels a pang of guilt for not being there for her when it happened. He’d been too deep down to help save her, even though she did her best to drag him up from the bottom.

He shakes himself. He may not have been there for her then, but he’s here for her now, and he has a plan. 

“Would you just wait?” he huffs, exasperated. “You’ve got to be the most impatient person I’ve ever met.” 

She rolls her eyes. “That’s not true at all.” 

He grins and turns up the radio. She turns it back down in a challenge and he just laughs, cruising along until they reach their destination. 

“No Kill Los Angeles?” she reads out loud. Her brow crinkles and she tilts her head to the side in confusion. 

“I think you need a companion.” 

Her jaw drops and she stares at him in obvious offense. “Fitz, this is what people do to their grandparents right before they send them to a nursing home.” 

He snorts loudly. “No, it’s not. It’s what people do when their best friend has been trampled on.” 

She flinches and he rushes to brush past his slip-up. The breakup, and Will Daniels, have become off-limits conversation. He longs for the time when there was no such thing as off-limits for them. 

“Look, I’m not saying you have to get a dog or cat or whatever, I just think you should look. You used to want a dog so bad but you were in that apartment. Now you have the house, so I thought…” 

He looks desperate now and she must see it because she relents, albeit reluctantly. “Fine. We can go look, but I’m not going home with a dog.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

“You said we were going to lunch,” she grumbles as he holds open the door. 

“I _did_ feed you,” he yelps defensively. 

“You bought me Taco Bell, Fitz.” 

“A true American delicacy.” 

She sticks her tongue out at him and greets the shelter staff behind the desk. The young high school aged girl looks like she might pass out, seeing Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons in the flesh. 

“Hi,” she squeaks. “I’m Callie. Um, how can I help you today?” 

“We’re here to look at dogs,” Fitz says before Jemma can stop him. 

“Maybe cats,” she cuts in. Fitz shakes his head. 

“C’mon! You’ve always wanted a dog!” 

Callie looks between them like a tennis match, shifting on her feet. “I can…well, we can look at the dogs first? And then move on to cats?” 

“That sounds lovely,” Jemma says cordially. She smiles politely and the girl skitters in front of them to open the door leading to the kennels. Jemma immediately feels her heart sink, staring at all of the crying dogs pawing at the glass.

“Oh, Fitz,” she sighs. “Why would you bring me here to make me feel better? I just want to start crying–” 

He gulps. He’s feeling the same way, but he won’t admit it. 

“You’re lonely, Jemma,” he says firmly. 

“I am not!” 

“Yes you are. You googled ‘best places to eat alone.’” 

“What are you doing going through my search history?” 

“Sh,” he hushes her. “Jemma, look.” 

He points out a little black dog, sitting straight up and staring at Jemma curiously. Jemma examines the tag–female, three years old, in the shelter for six months. 

“Oh well isn’t she precious.” 

The dog lets out a high pitched whine and Jemma kneels down, placing a hand on the glass.

“Hi, friend,” she coos. “Hello, sweet face.” 

The dog puts her paw up, matching it perfectly with Jemma’s hand. Something flips in her chest and she groans. 

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Fitz grins triumphantly. “So Jemma, what’s your new dog’s name?” 

She looks back at the tag and can’t help but grin. “Widget.” 


	179. Chicken Pox (Twins + Millie Triplett Verse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Nik, Rosie and Mellie get chicken pox. Tripp and Jemma never had it, and bc it's dangerous to adults, Fitz and Skye found themselves outnumbered to three small children who want nothing more than to scratch their skins off and hug the parent they cannot touch - from a babysitter of two little boys that were in a similiar condition last week.

“Jemma, no!” Skye shouts as Jemma appears at the back door. She pops up as if from nowhere and Fitz rolls his eyes at his wife before turning his attention back to his kids. 

“I want to see my children!” Jemma demands. She stomps her foot petulantly and Skye sees exactly where Rosie gets it. 

“Mum!” Rosie shrieks as soon as she sees her mother. She runs for the door and tries to yank it open. Tears fill her eyes upon realizing that it’s locked and Jemma feels her heart break. 

“You’re making it worse,” Skye says shortly. Her hair is a mess, her clothes obviously several days old.

It’s been five days since Nik, Rosie, and Millie contracted the chicken pox. While Skye had gotten it in the orphanage at age six, and Fitz at grade school when he was eight, Jemma and Trip had never had it. 

And so the FitzSimmons house became quarantine, with Jemma staying in Skye and Trip’s guest bedroom until the storm has passed. 

“Where’s Trip?” Skye asks when it becomes evident that Jemma won’t be leaving any time soon. Rosie begins to sniffle loudly, a sure sign that loud sobs are soon to come. 

“I snuck out,” Jemma admits with a grimace. 

“You’re a terrible liar, Jemma Simmons,” Trip says suddenly behind her. She gasps and puts a hand over her heart. Trip grins and winks at his wife. “How’s my girl?” 

“Oh, I’m fine,” Skye sighs tiredly, running a hand over her hair. “I mean, the kids have probably never been more disgusting than they are right now, but–” 

Trip shoots her a look and she blushes.

“You…meant Millie. She’s doing okay. Misses her dad.” 

He frowns. “I miss her too.” 

“Daddy, let Mum inside!” Rosie demands loudly. Fitz turns around from where he’d been kneeling in front of Nik–and that’s when Jemma realizes what he’d been doing in the first place. 

“Fitz!” Jemma reprimands sharply. “Why are there oven mitts taped to my son?!” 

“Desperate times, Jemma,” he defends. “He’s gotten out of everything else.” 

“Gotten out?” Jemma gasps incredulously. “What have you done to him?!” 

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Skye says desperately. Her eyes are a little wild. “There are three of them, Jemma. There are two of us. There are six tiny, crafty hands wanting to scratch themselves and they’ll get scars and it’ll just hurt them worse and–” 

Skye looks like she’s torn between hysterically laughing and crying, and Jemma feels a pang of sympathy for her friend. Skye and Fitz look positively exhausted, and Jemma once again feels guilty for not being able to be there for her family. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I wish I could help.” 

Rosie bangs on the glass and screams. 

“You know what would help,” Fitz says knowingly. Her shoulders slump and she nods before kneeling in front of the glass and giving it a kiss. 

“I love you, sweetheart,” Jemma tells her daughter. She glances through the glass and sees Nik staring curiously at the mitts, obviously calculating a way to get out of them.

Jemma gives it twenty minutes. Like his father, he’s an incredibly gifted tactile problem solver. 

“I’ll see you very soon, once the itchy bumps are gone,” Jemma explains. “Because if Mum gets the itchy bumps, it’ll be much worse than your itchy bumps.” 

“I don’t want you to get the itchy bumps,” Rosie hiccups. Jemma nods.

“I know you don’t, because you’re my good girl. Be good for your dad, please.” 

Rosie rolls her eyes. “Tell him to be good.” 

Jemma laughs fondly and stands. “Alright, Trip. Let’s go.” 

Trip blows a kiss to his wife and his daughter. Millie waves enthusiastically at him from her place in Skye’s arms and Jemma and Trip walk back down the porch steps. 

“How long did it take you to figure it out?” Jemma asks when they reach the sidewalk. 

Trip chuckles. “Right away, but I wanted an excuse to see them too.” 


	180. Huntingbird + Hive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Huntingbird + "Don't touch her"

To say that he’s surprised to see Grant Ward in this neck of the woods–which just so happens to be a small town in Texas–would be the biggest understatement in history.

The bastard is dead. Or at least, he’s supposed to be, but now Daisy is standing next to him looking half-dead and he’s dressed like Keanu Reeves in the Matrix. 

“Agent 19,” the Ward Zombie remarks softly. He tilts his head, studying her carefully. Bobbi’s eyes remain on Daisy. 

“Daisy,” she says pleadingly. She’s tied up to her chair, same as Hunter is, and he snaps his neck to look at her.

“It’s no use, Bob. She’s gone.” 

“I’m not gone,” Daisy breathes. “I’m alive, Bobbi. I’m here. I’m more alive than ever and I–I missed you. Please, come with us. Join us.” 

Bobbi visibly shudders. 

“Mockingbird,” Ward says again, wondorously. “You did some terrible things to Grant.” 

Hunter lunges forward against his restraints. “You want to talk terrible things, you undead son of a bitch?” 

“Hunter,” Bobbi snaps. She shakes her head sharply and finally, for the first time, turns her eyes on Ward. “What are you?” 

He smiles slightly, an unnerving and amused look on his face. “You’re smart.” 

“Yes well, I was a scientist,” she says impatiently. “And because of that, I know you’re not some kind of reincarnation of a man we left on another planet.” 

“My name is Hive.” 

“Hive?” Bobbi asks dully. Then she smiles, the shit disturbing smile that Hunter knows means a sarcastic remark is coming. “Oh, I get it. You’re a bunch of bees, zipped into good old Grant Ward’s meat suit.” 

He surges forward so fast that Hunter nearly misses it. Even Daisy flinches when Hive’s hand wraps around Bobbi’s neck. 

“Don’t touch her!” he shouts desperately. “Get your bloody hands off of her!” 

“Please,” Daisy says softly. She steps forward cautiously, meeker than Hunter has ever seen her. “Please, don’t hurt her. She’s my friend. She’ll understand, you have to give her time.” 

“That’s what you said about Mack,” Hive reminds her coolly. “And we both know how that ended.” 

Daisy looks away and Hunter feels his heart stop. Hive removes his hand from Bobbi’s neck, though, and he turns his attention to the agent in the room.

“Daisy,” Hunter says slowly. “What have you done to Mack?” 

“He wouldn’t listen,” Daisy pleads, eyes filling with tears. “He didn’t want to understand, he wouldn’t–I had to. He made me.” 

Bobbi looks green. Hunter certainly feels it. Hive sweeps from the room and Daisy follows in his wake, leaving them alone. 

“Bob, are you alright?” he asks immediately. He desperately scoots his chair closer to hers and she manages a small smile.

“Better, now.” 

“We’ve got to stop doing this,” he sighs, trying to lighten the mood. 

Bobbi snorts. “Yeah, we really need to find a better date plan than getting tied to chairs.” 

“So. Hive.” 

“And Daisy.” 

“How are we getting out of this one, love?” Hunter asks. HIs eyes focus on the purpling skin of her neck and he fights down nausea. “Because we have to.” 

Bobbi’s eyes drift to the floor and she looks up at him with a small grin. “I have a plan.” 


End file.
